A Guy Has to be Honest to Himself: Or How TJ Found Out He Wasn't Okay
by Astronomer Always
Summary: It's always the most normal looking ones with the most messed up issues. An Anthology. Rating May Change later.
1. Derogate

If he thought back to it, the first time he felt this was had to be when he was 11.

His father had just bought him a new bike after he outgrew his old one, what with the series of growth spurts hitting him. Though it was a little too big for him at first, TJ wanted to ride it. Waiting a few weeks until he was tall enough to ride the thing comfortably just wasn't going to happen. So when he hit the pavement, it wasn't a surprise.

He scraped the palms of his hands, lower arms, and the side of his face, enough for them to bleed. The gravel getting inside his wounds didn't help of course. Walking back home, his mind was focused on the sting of the scrapes with every one of his movements. He wasn't a stranger to getting a cut or scrape, it came with being a kid, but this time was just a little different.

He had to clean himself up, probably with rubbing alcohol, too. That was going to burn. But some small part of him was fascinated with his injuries. The blood beading up and running down his skin, staining his clothes, the newly forming scabs that were going to ache for days, it as fascinating in a strange way. He brushed his thoughts away, figuring that he was more eager about patching himself up than the injures themselves, and left it alone.

#

It was only in middle school that he started to think, that maybe, just maybe, something was off about himself.

He had somehow found himself in a fight with another student. In hindsight, it was over something stupid that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but the other guy was hell bent on 'kicking his ass' as he put it. And he did.

TJ didn't give up without putting up a fight of his own. Bruised, aching, and bleeding, he kept getting up every time he was knocked down and what friends he had back then were yelling at him to stay down. He didn't know, though, why he kept getting up on shaky feet, insisting that the fight wasn't over. He had nothing to prove to this kid, and wasn't particularly upset over whatever caused the fight in the first place. The aching in his muscles and bones were familiar to him, however, reminding him of how those scrapes made him feel.

It had to be a hour after he got home that he finally cleaned himself up. In the meantime, he poked and prodded at his wounds, strangely enjoying the added pains he caused.

Was that like this, he asked himself as another fist landed on his jaw. He felt an abnormal 'creek' in his bones. He couldn't explain it to himself. Why would anyone enjoy _pain_ of all things? God, was he even more of a freak than he's already been labelled in the hell that his middle school?

In the end, he was left defeated in the eyes of the student body, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

. . .

Being 13 years old, he was no stranger to self pleasure, as all 13 year old boys were. It was difficult for TJ to notice that it was, for lack of better words, _better_ after instances like this. He pressed on his bruises and scratched at his cuts with his free hand, and it felt _so damn amazing_.

Of course, he had to take advantage of that.

. . .

His parents were worried.

After that, he got into fights increasingly often, until it was almost once a week. They didn't understand why. Their son, though a bit of a mischievous troublemaker, wasn't known for getting into fights. Now once a week they were getting calls from the school principal.

They tried everything to figure out what was going on with their son. Talking to him, "I'm fine mom/dad", grounding, which they didn't know he liked having extra time in his room, and therapy, "There was nothing I need to talk about". Nothing worked.

It was only when he was threatened with being expelled that the fights stopped. He had to think of something else.

#

Brand new razor.

He managed to get it out of the shaving razor. By now, he had a routine to get it out without damaging it. That was important. Before, the razor was left jagged, but now, it was perfectly new.

TJ started this new 'habit' (could it really be called that?) not long after that fight. He heard the group of kids in school labelled 'emos' talk about cutting themselves because the world was shit or something. He went to them, asking more about it, and they told him how to get his own.

The house was empty and quiet. His door was locked. His window blinds and shades were shut. His phone was on silent. It was only time like now that he could do this.

He wasn't stupid it about it, he thought. He kept tissues, cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, peroxide, and bandages fully stocked in a box under his bed. He told himself it was for his safety and hygiene to convince himself that it was not to hide the injuries.

He started on his shoulders. The least likely place anyone would look, he figured. Old, healed and currently healing cuts were already on his shoulders, and now more were going to be added.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Four bleeding cuts. He stopped, indulging in the pain that ached out to his arm.

It felt _so damn good._

He moved to his stomach.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

. . . .

Fourteen. Fifteen.

He dropped his razor when the pain became to much for him to keep going. It hurt. It hurt so wonderfully good, as he covered he cuts with his hands and felt the blood trail between his fingers. He always got out of hand when it came to cutting his stomach, but he thought it was worth it.

Someone looking in would think he was mad for doing this to himself, and he understood why. He would be seen as sick, mental, unstable. But no one was looking in as he indulged in this sick form of pleasure, and he didn't need to worry.

#

Masochism

 _noun._

 _the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from one's own pain or humiliation._

There wasn't another word that TJ found that described him and his 'habits'. He didn't think there was a word for it, and had long ago accepted that he was a freak. Some sort of sexual deviant that could only find enjoyment of sexual nature when it was paired with pain. Someone who would be found sick in the mind if he ever let someone like this slip, and accepted that it would be best if he stayed single and avoided the pain of being left because this _thing_ was too much to cope with.

The more he looked into it, the more he found it described him.

#

It was amazing what people would do for money.

TJ found out that for 150 bucks, he could get a local gang to beat the living shit out of him. He found them on craiglist of all places. It took weeks of messaging back and forth to convince them that _yes_ he was completely serious and that _no,_ he wasnt going to call the police.

Just beat him up. Bare fists, brass knuckles, a baseball bat, anything they could get their hands on. Just don't kill him, were the only rules. How could he enjoy the pain if he was dead? Duh.

So they wailed on him, landing punch after punch, kick after kick to his face chest and back. For an hour, he was their personal punching bag. Whatever pent up anger they had was taken out on them.

By the time it was over, he was left with a black eye, bruises all over his arms and abdomen, a split lip, a gash over his left eye, a broken and bleeding nose, numerous bleeding cuts, and a loose tooth.

He limped home, in agonizing pain. When his parents saw him in this condition, they were reasonably worried. 'Worried' being an understatement. They brought him to the hospital to get his broken nose fixed,, among other things. When asked about what happened, he told them he was jumped by a local gang, which wasn't completely untrue.

He barely got any sleep that night. He was too busy playing with his injuries.

#

It became a regular thing. 150 bucks to get beaten within an inch of his life just to be able to get off. He had to get a part time job to pay for it, but it was worth it. He had gotten better and treating his own injuries before he got home to avoid suspicion. TJ was pretty sure he would make a pretty decent nurse at this point.

Having several bruises and healing cuts at any given time soon became the norm. He wasn't good with coming up with excuses for the rare person who asked about them at school, but that was just it. It was rare for another at school to ask. Very little people cared; he suppose it came with having no friends. He hated that at first, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes its the details not given that are the most concerning.

ZZZ

Saving up for a car was a waste of money at this point in his life, in TJs opinion, at least. He preferred to use part of his paycheck in getting the ever loving _shit_ beaten out of him, and how could he enjoy limping home in agonizing pain if he could just sit and drive? That's just no fun.

He rather limp home, leaving a trail of blood as it dripped from one the many cuts on his body, the pain in his right knee and ankle shooting through his leg and spine every time his weight shifted. Those guys did a number on him this time. Should've gave them a bonus.

Home was right up the street sadly enough. . .maybe he could make good use of those sewing needles he brought a while ago if he didn't lose consciousness first. Or tomorrow, these things always hurt more the day after.

"TJ?"

A glance over to his left and he saw Spinelli. That's right. . .they lived right across the street from each other, didn't they? Still.

He continued on his way.

"Woah, hey, what the hell happened to you?" She asked as she came up to him. "You look like you got hit by a car!"

With no energy to entertain her with an answer, he turned and started to cross the street. The short step down was enough to make his knees buckle, but he kept himself standing.

Goddamn reflexes.

"Do you need any help?" She asked. ". . .That's a dumb question."

She took his arm and lead him to her house. He blinked, though it was increasingly hard to see through his right eye with the area around it quickly swelling and throbbing with every heartbeat. His house was right there, but he needed to sit down.

Next time he needed to make it clear to limit the hits to his head next time. Being dizzy was garbage, and concussions were absolute trash.

"What the hell happened to him?" Vince asked from his seat on the couch. They were dating, weren't they? Hmm.

By now the cut on his right arm seeped through his clothes and now his fingers. That one had to be deep. Might have to stitch that one up. So he gripped it tighter, digging his nails into the sensitive flesh around it.

"I don't know! I found him walking around like this," she said. "Help me get him to the bathroom."

ZZZ

When he was 8, his grandfather gave him a pocket knife. It was an old thing, back from when he was a kid himself. Despite that, it was in considerably good shape, minus the layer of rust. But with no real use for it, TJ stored it in the back of his desk drawer and forgot about its existence for years until he cleaned that drawer out.

With a bit of effort he was not only able to remove the rust, but sharpen the blade, restoring it to it's former glory. The pathetic excuse for a knife was able to cut through anything with minimal effort.

That became his go to knife of choice when it came time for him to indulge in his favorite form of entertainment, soon replacing the blades her pried out of shaving razors. Those things rust so easily, it's a shame.

ZZZ

With the help of the A/C, he was aware of the cool wetness of his clothes, the blood soaked fabric clinging to his skin. He's gonna have to stop by the store to stock up on what he needed to get the stains out tomorrow, he was running low. While he's there he might as well get another bottle of rubbing alcohol; he was halfway through the bottle under his bed, anyways. . .

"So. . .what happened? You didn't actually get hit by a car, did you?" She asked. Or that's what it sounded like. The dried blood around his ears made it hard to hear.

The cut (cuts? Could be a gash, he needed a mirror to fully bask in his injuries) barely stung as she attempted to clean with a tissue dabbed in alcohol. Why even bother with that pathetic amount. . .if he couldn't feel it _burn_ _his inner exposed flesh_ then what's the point?

He opened and closed his hands into fists. By the feel of it, two or three of them were jammed (yes!), an index, pointer, on his left, and ring finger on his right. A splint can take care of that whenever he'll get bored of pulling on them and pushing them backward just to feel the bones creak and pop. Taking notes was going to be fun for a while, so a plus. . .

"Hello? Is anybody home?" Spinelli said. She waved her hand in front of his face. "You can at least talk to me if I'm cleaning you up. . ."

Goddamn the lights in this bathroom were bright. The blue tint to it made the room look almost clinical, but the person in front of them couldn't treat a wound for jack shit. What kept him in place was the need to sit and. . .that's about it really. He could've sat on the edge of the sidewalk for all he cared. Pulling away from her grasp took too much energy at that moment. He should be able to walk now.

"How's he looking?"

"I dunno. I think he's out of it 'cause he's not answering or looking at me," she said. "Maybe he really did get hit by a car."

"Should we take him to the hospital? He looks pretty bad."

That was his cue to leave. He had his own 'hospital', and he didn't need those doctors or their assessments. He stood on shaking legs and steadied himself before limping past the two of them. Which way was door again. . .?

"Do you think we should follow him?"

"Yeah, probably. Make sure he gets home, Vince."

He stumbled a few times, but stayed standing as he made his way out. He took a deep breath, soaking in the stabbing aches from the massive growing bruise on his stomach, and shook off the sleepiness to clear his head before he crossed the street hunched over.

ZZZ

There was something almost hypnotic about the perfect shine of a knife fully restored from neglect and a coat of rust. A days work and the right supplies, and it was easy enough to turn the ugliest knife into something that sliced through anything ( _anything!)_ with next to no pressure. You could use it as a mirror if you wanted to.

In hindsight, TJ supposed his parents concern that their 12 year old son picking up knife restoration and sharpening was understandable, especially with how easily he lost himself in restoring which ever neglected knives he found at a garage sale for 30 cents. And they were right to, whether or not they knew what he was doing with them.

Goddamn you could toss a tomato against the sharp end and it would slice in half like _nothing,_ so it should be able to do the same thing with skin, right? Right! And it did and it cut _cleanly_ and **LE** _ft **N** o S **Ca** **r wH** e **n**_ _iT_ _hE **ale** D_ But hiding them in his room for himself would be too suspicious so he ended up selling most of them at a flea market or when they have a garage sell or some shit. Made money but rather have kept them.

Then again the emerging masochism was enough without a collection like that. He probably shouldn't feed into that.

ZZZ

Damn keys, why'd they have to be so small and hard to turn? Leaning against the front door on his bruised left shoulder, he struggled to turn the key. His parents, out of town, weren't there to open the door (good. he was on a solid 2 year streak of them not knowing about this and wasn't about to break it), so it was just him and his jammed fingers.

"Here, you're not gonna get the door open like that."

The keys were taken out of his mangled fingers and the door finally opened. Finally home. Now he had to tackle the beast of climbing the stairs. Five steps up in and he had to stop, almost falling over if he didn't lean on the railing to catch his breath. The wood creaked under his weight as he struggled to stand up straight again.

His right arm was grabbed and slung over Vince's shoulder (was he still here?) as he helped him the stairs and into his room. He pulled away at the sight of his bed. Finally. Sitting, he was still slouch, struggling to stay awake

"So, uh, are you gonna be okay?"

The slight tremble from trying to stay awake was easily interpreted as a nod. Without a steady grip, entertaining himself with the collection of needles had to wait until tomorrow. Faintly, he heard the front door close as he laid down. Weakly, he kicked his shoes off, getting them fall to the floor with a thud that echoed through the room. He curled in on himself and dozed off.


	3. Incongruous

Oh, the irony.

* * *

The sharp clinical smell that accompanied alcohol wipes wafted through the air in his room as he sat at his desk. The only light came from the small lamp her kept on his desk, humming.

It must've been weeks sinve he was able to indulge like this, with no interuptions. His phone, sat across the room on his dresser on set on no distractions, even the blinking green light aas away from him.

Truthfully he should keep it like that most of the time. People text him for answers with his problems like he didn't have anything better to do with his time. One wrong number and now everyone wanted answers. . .

The needles glimmered and shined under the light, highlighting its perfect cleanliness. Only a dozen this time. He probably wasn't going to use all of them; TJ found he never did most of the time.

He wiped down his pocket knife, paying special attention to the base, because God knows he didn't want to deal with another infection. It took him a month and a round of antibiotics to fight it off, and that wasn't something he wanted to deal with again.

ZZZ

573-9284: can i get some advice Alias

: that's what people decided this # is for

573-9284: what would u do if you knew your friend was using steriods

: snitch

573-9284: but theyll hate me

: then dont

: in all srsness if their life is in danger you should tell regardless. let them be mad, their safety is more important.

ZZZ

With gloved hands, he picked up the first needle and held one end to the underside of his right arm. It was one one his favorite spots, though one he was only safety allowed to toy with during fall an winter. the rest of the year he was stuck with his thighs and stomach to keep the scars of his self harm out of sight.

It's not like anyone would be looking anyways. How many times have he walked into school after a night of 150 dollars well spent with a black eye and bandages and the extent of the attention he received were curious glances? But he wasn't complaining. Not having to lie made life easier.

He pressed down slowly increasing the pressure until the needle broke through the skin, a single bead of blood coming to the surface. It slid just under the skin, its indent clearly visible on the surface moving along as he pressed, until the sharp end pierced through the skin again, breaching to the surface. Once sure that both ends sticking out of his flesh were even, he picked up the next one.

ZZZ

982-4465: alias ive got this boyfriend and hes super cute and i like him but he wants to have sex n i keep telling him im not ready but he keeps insisting that its the right time

: dump him. hes actual garbage

982-4465: [is typing. . .]

: if that next message is telling me you love him i dont want to hear it

982-4465: but i do! ive never loved someone this much before what if hes the one?

: then there would be no if.

: you shouldnt have sex a second before youre ready. youll regret it. Youll find someone better i promise

ZZZ

He watched with morbid fascination as his blood trickled down his arms and soaked into the paper towels that covered his desk. It wasn't much, ending as soon as it started, but of course it would. It was only a warm up after all. All five of them. He clenched his fist, feeling the metal rub against the underside of his flesh with the tensing of his muscles.

He paused to catch is breath. The house was still as silent as when he began. Good. He could continue without interruptions. He placed his arm on the table with the impaled side facing down, the pressure causing it to bleed more.

ZZZ

453-0014: Alias, i want to show my gf that I really care about her for her bday, but i dunno how. it tried giving her roses and chocolate on our anniversary, but she doesn't seem impressed. what should I do

: roses and chocolates are such standard gifts, they barely mean anything anymore. you should get her something more personal. what's she like

453-0014: shes the super dainty type. her room is filled with flower prints and frills. shes like the definition of girly

: i think ive seen who youre talking about

:okay what youre gonna do is get her flowers, but not roses. flowers have different meanings, try getting her some asters or lilies. or try a bottle of her favorite perfume.

453-0014: omg i cant believe i havent thought about that. thanks alias

: np

ZZZ

That little two inch pocket knife was sharpened to perfection. Cutting through skin went as smoothly as a surgical incision. That was a double edged sword, TJ came to find. It cut too easily, and one small attention slip and he'd be cutting into the muscle. He knew. It happened more than once, accidentally and on purpose, when he was in a curious mood.

Like the day after they went over the layers of skin in anatomy class. Epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous tissue. The only few things he remembered from that class. He wasn't even planning on doing anything that evening except for homework, but the topic cued his curiosity, and since he had what he needed, why not play surgeon and cut _just a little deeper_ and bleed a little more than normal.

But not tonight. No, instead, TJ decided that a collection of simple cuts on his forearm was plenty enough, though he got carried away and couldn't say exactly how many new cuts he had. Somewhere between 10 and 20, all bleeding and coloring his skin red as they burned and stung as the open air got to them.

A slice that deep would mean a visit to the ER and he didn't want to deal with the nurses and doctors. The last time he had to get through their patronizing talks about 'unhealthy habits for those his age'. No, those might have to wait until he's older and on his own health insurance.

ZZZ

228-1983: Ive never done this before. . .is this Alias?

: Yep.

228-1983: Oh, okay. I have this problem. I'm pretty sure I'm depressed and have been for a while and i'm on antis, but the only thing that makes me feel better is cutting myself, esp when im stressed. i know its bad but i dont know what to do about it

: You need to tell your parents. cutting yourself not healthy.

228-1983: but i dont want them to worry Alias

: theyre your parents its their job to worry about you.

: maybe your meds arent working bc they're the wrong kind for you, theres like a dozen and a half different kinds.

: theyll be relieved that you told them about this before you did something more dangerous

228-1983: im scared, Alias

: i imagine so.

: but I think you should tell them. They already know about the depression since youre on antis. they might not expect it but getting help for that is part of the whole treatment process.

ZZZ

With the bandages securely wrapped around his arms, and his skin throbbing from the cuts and cleaning, TJ slid the small toolbox back under his bed. He leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone. Now he was bored. But it was getting late, so going to bed would be okay, right?

Now that thins were over with, he was left a bit unsatisfied. He was hoping that the extra hour would solve his growing discontent with his activities as of late, but it didn't. He mulled over the idea of him being bored. Not with the self harm itself but with what he limited himself to.

It was safe, at least in his opinion, others might differ but they didn't have to know. But safe is all too often boring, as he was finding out now. Really, though, how could he shake things up, so to speak? There wasn't much left for him to cut up and stab, except his face.

Or neck.

He hummed, running his fingers over his throat, feeling his resting pulse under his fingertips.


	4. Lackadaisical

ZZZ

With how much knowledge he taught himself about first aid and handling bleeding, TJ should've reminded himself that the vast majority of boys _didn't_ have that sort of knowledge on hand.

The six of them were hanging out at the park on Saturday, like many others, playing a couple of games to have a good time. Gus, being the clutz he was, had fallen into a bush, getting a pretty deep cut on his forearm, along with being covered in thorns. but compared to the cuts he gave himself, that was easy enough to take care of. Making Gus calm down, was harder, though. The guy never did well with blood.

It didn't take long to stop the bleeding, just a few minutes and couple of well placed pressure points, and the bleeding was slowed to a barely noticeable trickle. There wasn't much he could do about the pain, but that wasn't his priority. That cut needed to be cleaned above all else. But it wasn't like he carried a first aid kit where ever he went. He needed to get home so his parents could take him to get that thing stitched up.

"How'd you learn to do that?" One of them asked. He couldn't remember which one it was, but he did remember how he almost exposed his new 'habit' on accident.

"I took a first aid class." He said. That was enough to keep them from asking anymore, thankfully. Besides, it was good that at least one of them knew how to handle injuries.

ZZZ

When he was younger, he hated how Becky used him as a guinea pig for trying out new makeup ideas and methods. What boy would like being forced by their teenage sister to sit and have eye junk on put on their eyes and lip junk put on their lips? But it wasn't all bad.

He learned that if he put on white eyeliner on her lower eyelid that it made your eyes look bigger, and therefore make him look cuter. And that was important! Because half the reason he was never taken to juvie was because he was short, chubby, freckled, funny looking, and _cute._ Adults ate that shit up.

He also learned that the right combination of foundation and concealer could cover up a black eye. That came in handy when he started picking fights for the thrill of having bruises and scrapes to poke and prod at. One too many black eyes and there would be CPS at their doorstep, and he didn't want to put his parents through the grief of that.

So he always kept both on hand, just in case.

ZZZ

It took longer than usual to move around normally after that particular night of getting voluntarily jumped. That one night when Spinelli just had to be taking out the trash as he was walking home. He forced himself to get up early to do some deep stretching to loosen his muscles and put on the makeup right to cover his black eye so he wouldn't raise any suspensions at school.

His bookbag felt twice as heavy, and he was easier to empty it at his locker when he finally arrived at school. As he opened his locker, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see who it was. Vince. In usual letterman jacket.

"Hey, uh, you okay?" He asked. "You were pretty banged up on Saturday."

"I'm fine," TJ said, turning back to his locker. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem. Spinelli still thinks you got hit by a car," Vince tried to joke. This whole conversation was awkward, and they were only three sentences into it. "You look a lot better."

"Mmm."

"So what happened? It must've been pretty bad."

"It wasn't that bad," he mumbled. "I have to go to class."

He turned to start walking towards his first class, but feel his upper arm being grabbed. Not used to anyone at school touching him, TJ didn't expect it, and flinched as Vince's grip was right over a particularly deep cut he had to stitch up and was keeping an eye on for infection.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Vince let go as soon as he flinched. He watched TJ or his reaction. Vince remembered how he looked a couple night ago; there was no way that he recovered that fast with the injures he had. Either he and Spinelli overreacted or TJ was just that good at hiding his injures. As far as he could tell, TJ was set on not letting him get close enough to see.

"It's fine," TJ said flatly. He rubbed a hand over where his grip was before walking away. "I'm going to be late."

Vince let the conversation end as he left. It wasn't like they had first period together, or any classes. They barely passed each other in the hallway, and when they did, they didn't acknowledge each other with so much as eye contact or a nod. So he had no idea what Spinelli expected when she told him to ask TJ if he was okay. A 'fine' was more of a response than he expected, though.

But he was right. Classes were starting in a minute, and he needed to get to his.

ZZZ


	5. Reminiscent

Despite it all, TJ wouldn't say it was a _sexual_ thing. His therapist might say so, if he ever told him about his habit, but it wasn't. From beginning to end, the pain and blood by itself was more than enough. Maybe when he was younger he did a little exploring, but now? No use for it, none at all.

It wasn't even indicative of him having any unusual sexual interests. Granted he didn't have _normal_ sexual interests, but he didn't have ANY at all. It wasn't an issue for him but it was an issue for the entire boys locker room when they talked about their girlfriends or who ever it was they were interested in, and he stayed quiet, as per usual.

God, they didn't pay him any attention any other time, why'd they have to then?

But he kept ignoring them, refusing to answer their questions, letting the rumors spread and die out on their own without his input.

ZZZ

As it turned out, if you were careful enough and knew what you were doing, you could have a lot of fun with your neck, as TJ learned. Avoiding the jugular was clearly a concern, but once you knew exactly where they were, it was easy enough to avoid it and the other major veins. With that knowledge in hand, he grabbed a box of pins, and holed himself in his room.

Four. Four was the magic number of needles that he was able to pierce through the skin on front of his neck. With every pulse he felt them move ever so slightly, but still staying in place. And hey, he was still alive, so he must've did it right. It was a lot easier than he thought it would be.

So he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and basking in the slight stinging sensation spreading out from his neck.

There were a bunch of things worse than this. It wasn't like he was choking himself with a belt. Or doing meth. He had control of this.

Once he had enough and the stinging stopped, he slowly pulled the pins out, and beads of blood came out of the tiny holes they left behind, pouring down his neck. Still, no major vein was pierced, and he was still very alive. Hell, the thrill of it made him feel more alive than he had in a while.

ZZZ

It wasn't like he was anti-social or anything, like those comments other students made when they thought he couldn't hear. Asocial would be a better word, in his opinion. He didn't care one way or another about whatever was happening socially at high school, whether it involved some rumor about him and his presumed sexuality.

Those rumors didn't seem to have any effect on how much attention he received from the female population, though he didn't know if he should consider that to be a good thing or a bad thing. He supposed he should be flattered, but it rarely left him anytime alone at lunch to be alone with his thoughts, plus he had to be extra careful about them not spotting his wounds. Guys might not have an eye for spotting that makeup is being worn, but girls sure as hell did.

Maybe he should be thankful. It made him at least appear normal to anyone looking, even though he didn't care for it. Even if they thought of him as a sort of challenge. It was well known that he never went out with any of the girls at school, let alone show any interest. He understood why, on a hormone driven teenager level, but the sooner they'd give up, the better.

At least it _looked_ like he had friends.

ZZZ

378-3892: Alias? I'm worried about a friend

: over what

378-3892: Im worried that someone is hurting him but he wont talk to us

378-3892: we havent really talked in years

: then talk to him now? or tell an adult or whatever

378-3892: but he might still be mad at us

: you wont know unless you try


	6. Hindsight

Minding your own business is an important skill to learn.

* * *

They were staring at him. At lunch, during the rare class he had with on of them. Which ones were those, again? Science with Gus and Home Ec with Mikey. Which was a shame, because Home Ec was his favorite class of the year by far. Sure it was an easy A but he also learned how to sow, which then let him repair his hat that had been torn to pieces years prior and he kept putting off getting repaired.

But now he had to focus on figuring out what the FUCK Mikey was staring at him for. Instead of focusing on getting his different types of vegetable cutting done right. It'd be easier if the knives they used weren't this dull.

Whatever. At least they weren't trying to talk to him. He didn't think he had the energy to do that.

ZZZ

"Hey."

Considering that they were neighbors, TJ supposed it made sense that she would be the one to come up to him first. Or second if he was considering Vince, but that would require effort and he didn't feel like putting any of that towards this.

It was the end of the school day, he just wanted to get home and work on restoring an old knife he found as a garage sale. Fixing that thing up is gonna take like, a whole two days.

"Hey," He said back, before turning his attention back to getting what he need from his locker for the weekend.

"So, uh, what's going on?" She asked. "You got any plans for the weekend?"

"Homework, sleep," TJ said as he closed his locker. God, this wasn't going to turn into a whole conversation, was it? The sooner he got out of here, the better.

"I mean, duh, that's what everyone's doing. What about anything fun?" She asked.

He didn't like this.

He didn't like how casual she was trying to be about this conversation, or how she was examining his face for the injuries that she saw on him not too long ago. Whatever this was all about, he wasn't going to be a part of it.

"I've got my own plans," he said plainly. He walked away, not bothering to end the conversation properly or what the hell ever. But that didn't stop her; Spinelli just walked along side him.

"'Cause we're gonna have a horror movie marathon on Saturday and we were wondering if you wanted to join us?" She asked.

"No thanks." He tossed his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going home. Don't follow me."

That seemed to do the trick, as he was able to walk home and be alone with his thoughts.

ZZZ

No matter how he looked at it, four needles in his neck seemed like the most he was able to use. This wasn't really a problem, though. Four was enough. It did the job. Besides, he wasn't going to risk it. He was a masochist but he wasn't a stupid masochist. The extent he went to disinfect his tools, skin, and wounds was proof enough of that.

As drops of blood beaded from his neck and dripped from the needles and down his neck, he grabbed his pocket knife, recently sharpened and ready to use. He paused for a moment, taking in how the light reflected and shined off it's surface as it was turned.

Topless, his top was already littered with cuts and dried streamed of blood from the beginning of this session. Now his attention turned to his. . .which was on was it going to be this time? His. . .left arm. The upper part first, so maybe what he'll do will be enough to call it a night.

 _One_ _Two_ _Three. . ._ _Nine_ _Ten_

It wasn't enough, but really, it rarely was. So, as he normally did, Tj turned his underside of his arm over and started there.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have been so indulged that he didn't notice his phone vibrating or the knocks at the front door, or the steps coming up the stairs. But he didn't, and was only aware of _their_ presence when they bust open his door.

A few of the screamed. He couldn't figure out who in his masochistic haze. Gus and Mikey always screamed like little bitches, but Gretchen and Spinelli were both girls, no matter how much the latter wanted to be a 6 foot tall bodybuilder named Moe, so it was tricky to tell who was screaming.

Honestly though? Did he care? No. About them barging into his room with no respect for his privacy, yeah, but about them being shocked at seeing him like this? They should be surprised at what they see when they bust down a door. If it didn't want to be open, there had to be a reason.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He hoped the doorway didn't need to be fixed.


	7. Presumptuous

ZZZ

 _Should they. . .say something?_

 _It wasn't like they were friends or anything but when you find someone in as bad of a shape as TJ a few night ago, you had to say something, right?_

 _Spinelli and Vince had plenty of questions, considering how he showed up to school without a mark on his face when they KNOW for a fact he had a gash on his forehead, a black eye, swelling over the other, and a bleeding lip, and that's just the injures they saw on his face._

 _But they didn't exactly know how to do that._

 _They asked Mikey, Gus, and Gretchen to keep an eye on him along with them, but they didn't find out anymore information then they already had. He was quit in class, opting out of group assignments in favor of doing them by himself, despite the occassional girl or girls sitting with him at lunch, he didnt appear to have any friends._

 _There wasn't much they could get from that. Maybe he crossed someone who wanted to beat the shit out of him. He did always used to fet in fights in middle school for some reason._

 _Going up to him and talking was all they had left, but he wasn't interested and barely said a full sentence to either of them before leaving._

 _ZZZ_

The screaming only stopped when whoever was doing it ran out of air. Between the "what the _fuck_ are you doing?!'s" and "what the fuck, what the FUCK?!'s", his pocket knife was snatched out of his hands, and his chair was pushed away from his desk.

When he was finally out of his haze, he noticed that two of them were trying to clean his cuts. Gretchen and Spinelli, while the other either stood or sat near by. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to get his barring. Christ, how was he going to handle

"Hey, you back with us, man?" Vince asked him. He was _trying_ to clean the cuts on his upper arm. "You, uh, did a number on yourself, huh?"

"It's fine."

"It's not _fine!"_ Spinelli shouted. "Nothing about this is fine! Anyone who does. . . _this!"_ She gestured at his cuts. "Is not fine!"

"It's fine."

"Stop saying that! You're not fine, TJ! Look at your arm! Look at your stomach!" She kept shouting. Good thing his parents weren't home to keep thing from getting worse. "What is that- are those needles in your neck?!"

The others moved to get a closer look, and cringed when they saw that he, in fact, had four needle piercing through the front of his neck. He had forgotten about those, actually. They needed to be removed before the blood dried and it became harder to pull them out.

So with his arm with unmarred skin, he reached up to pull them out.

"Ew, ew, you aren't going to pull them out are you?" Gus said. He cringed, wincing as TJ did just that, pulling out the needles one by one without so much as flinching. The five of them did enough flinching of their own to make up for it. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"How can you just _pull_ them out like that?" Vince asked. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not really." He looked at the needles, now in his hands, before dropping them in a waste bin. He never used the same needles twice; too much risk for infection. Speaking of, he needed to clean himself up, so pulled his arm away, and he grabbed the tool box under his bed, where he kept all his supplies.

The others didn't know whether to be relieved that he had so much medical stuff, or to be even more horrified at everything that's happening right now. They watched him clean the cuts with carefully, but with ease that only came doing it frequently.

"Do you. . .do this often?" Vince asked. "Because Spinelli's right. This isn't okay."

"Self harm is often a sign of depression. Are you depressed?"

He paused, giving them a confused look.

"You're always by yourself, and you don't seem to have any friends, or in any clubs or teams or anything. If you're depressed then we can help you, ya know? I know we haven't hung out in forever but you can talk to us if you're not doing okay."

. . .Were they serious? TJ looked at each of their expressions. Despite a few of them looking quite sick and disturbed at seeing him in this state, they clearly looked concerned as well. Ah.

He couldn't stop of few chuckles from escape, and that quickly became a nice, breath loosing, stomach holding laugh.

"That's presumptuous of you," said TJ. "I'm taking a shower. Do me a favor and be gone when I'm done, yeah? Thanks."

Finished with cleaning his wounds, he stood to walk to the attached bathroom to his bedroom, but was stopped when he felt one of them grab his good upper arm.

"What?"

"We're serious, man. We don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I know, and that's unfortunate." He pulled his arm away and continued to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. A hot shower was always nice after these sessions.

ZZZ

". . .Would someone like to explain to me what the FUCK we walked in on?"

"We walked in on TJ. In his room. Cutting up his arm with a knife."

"Jesus Christ he had needles in his _neck!._ Who does that?"

"Someone who is not mentally well, Gus. To say that this is concerning would be putting it extremely lightly."

"Did you notice how calm about us seeing that? Like he didn't _care."_

Then he's probably been doing it for a long time, especially if he had all that stuff under his bed."

"So what do we do? Do we tell someone or?"

"No, not yet. I think we should try approaching him. You know, try to talk to him first."

 _Z_ ZZZ

By some miracle, they were gone by the time TJ finished his shower. He even double checked and looked downstairs, making sure they didn't just leave the room to let him get dressed in private. Nope, they were completely gone.

And now he has to worry about them knowing. It was probably going to come out one way or another but he'd rather it not come out in this particular way. In an ideal world they would convince themselves that it was some bizarre fever dream and leave it at that.

But TJ didn't live in the ideal world, and now they were watching him at school. e didn't have to look to know they were watching him whenever they were in the same hallway or in the lunch room. He was pretty good at keeping a neutral expression but goddamn was this testing him.

"I'm sorry, can you say that again?" he said to the particular girl that came up to him today. With this on his mind, he had little attention left to pay attention to anyone who would talk to him. But people talking to him didn't happen often so it was working out. Mostly.

"I was saying how the dance is coming up," she said. "And I was wondering if you had a date for it?"

"No."

"Um, would you like to go. . .with me?" She shyly asked.

"I'm sorry, but no. Don't take it personally, though. I'm not going at all, date or no date," he said. "You're sweet. But I'm not really into relationships."

"Oh. . .okay." He would've watched her turn and walk away if he didn't spot Vince out of a crowd down the hall, watching him.

Great.

ZZZ

"Hey, TJ, do you want to go to debate club with me?"

Out of all of them, TJ didn't expect Gretchen to be the one to approach him in such a blatant way. They had all of one class together and half the time he forgot about that. But he couldn't forgot today, because today was the day where she came over and sat at the empty desk next to his after the teacher let them work on their assignment. Most students got into groups, while he was one that opted to, as always.

"No thanks."

"I'm sure you'll like it, though. We debate a lot of topics for practice, I think you can really get into it, considering you used to do a lot of the same thing-"

"Gretchen."

"Yes?"

"I'm not going."

He turned his attention back to the textbook in front of him. This stupid assignment involved doing a bunch of equations, and his grades needed him to get through it, dyscalculia be damned.

But she still stayed next to him as he continued to make heads or tails of these problems. And TJ did his best to ignore her until the end of class. He was well on his way out the door until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"We all just want you to know that we're here if you need anyone to talk to," she said.

"If you really want to help me then leave me alone," He said. "And tell the others to do the same and stop staring at me. I'd appreciate it." He adjusted his bag over his shoulder and left.

ZZZ

But that was to much to ask for, TJ found when he walked up to his house. Spinelli was sitting on his porch, waiting for him, because of course she would be.

He walked past her, not bothering to ask why she was there because he already knew why, but he wasn't going to feed into this. The sooner he was in his room, _alone,_ the better.

"Hey Teej. You take History 401, right? you think you can help me out? I'm having trouble with this project-"

"You've gotten really bad at lying," he interrupted. "Either that or its the situation that makes it so blatantly obvious."

He continued past her, unlocking the front door and ready to leave her on the porch. just as he was closing the door, she pushed it open.

"Okay so maybe its really obvious, but im not lying," she said. "I really do need help with this history project and youre already taking the senior level class."

"Why do you know this?"

"C'mon, Teej! Help me out."

"No."

"Teej-"

"Stop calling me that and leave."

"Oh hello, Ashley!" Their conversation was interrupted when his mother walked into the front room to see what the commotion was about. "Its been a long time since I've seen you come over. TJ, aren't you going to let her in?"

". . .Yeah."

Spinelli smiled has he opened the door and she stepped inside, thankful for TJ's status as somewhat a mommas boy.

"What brings you over here, Ashley? I miss seeing you kids over here."

"I was hoping that TJ would help me with this project," Spinelli said.

They sat at the kitchen table, with their note and textbooks laid out and open. Spinelli was insistent on sitting right next to him, even though TJ wanted her on the opposite end of the round table. She explained her project, some 12 page essay on a social topic in whatever decade they wanted to pick.

"So I was thinking I'd do something in the 20s. You know, flappers, alcohol, world war 1 and all that," she explained.

"World War 1 ended in 1918," TJ said. He flipped through the pages of one of his old notebooks.

"See? You know a lot."

"It's basic history. Write your essay on Prohibition. There's a lot to work with." He pushed the notebook over to her to go over. "Can you leave now?"

"Hold on, I wanna read over this."

TJ settled in on getting through his math homework, doing his best to pretend that he was doing it alone. He wasn't even planning on indulging tonight; he wanted to get to bed early because being stared at gives him a migraine.

Spinelli was so full of bullshit, though. Mr. Morison didn't assign essays longer than 5 pages or cover the 20s.

He noticed the real reason she wanted to come over soon enough. Quick glances at his arms and neck for any signs of self harm. Those quick glaces became outright stares, and she only looked away when he look back at her. Too bad there was nothing to see. He never managed to get to his lower arm and the pin points on his neck were to small to see without getting close.

"Hey. . .Teej. Can we talk about last night?" She asked.

"No."

"We're all worried about you after seeing you doing that to yourself. What's going on? Are you okay? You can talk to us if somethings bothering you so much that you want to, you know, do _that,"_ Spinelli said. "Maybe you _are_ depressed, we don't ever see you hang out with any friends or anywhere outside of school, which is weird because you used to be really social. You can get help for it, ya know? Cutting isn't a good way to cope."

He sighed, closing his books. "I'm going upstairs. Drop off my notebook when you're finished."

"Wait-"

"NO. I want to be left alone and I don't understand what you all don't get about that."

"Because you're not okay! Anyone who does what you were doing needs to get help."

His only response was a scoff before he went to his room.


	8. Interruptions

TJ knew he was being followed. He couldn't see or hear them, but he knew they were around, watching him.

The week was finally over an all he wanted to do was get home and take a nap, maybe get a start of one of the rusty knives he found at a garage sell. Not deal with all this bullshit.

He scratched his arms. It's been a while since he was able to take out his pocket knife. Who the hell knows if they were going to barge into his room again? He sighed. Approaching his house, it was a relief to see no one waiting for him to have a 'heart to heart' or some bullshit. He headed straight inside and to the kitchen to warm up some left over pizza before holing himself into his room.

Knowing them, running the rosk of cutting wasnt worth the still high chance of them "just popping in".

That didnt mean he was limited to his options, however.

ZZZ

They were all gathered in Spinellis room of all places. It must've been years since they were all together like this in any of their rooms, but recent events required them to come together and think of what to do.

A plan, as one might even say.

The irony of them making a plan to help the person who used to do that sort of thing was not lost on them. With Spinellis house being right across the street from the topic of their conversation, it made the most sense to go over there to think of what to do.

"We've tried talking to him, but he doesn't want anything to do with our help."

"Most people are adverse to those who've discovered something like this."

"So should we tell someone else who can handle this better? Like a counselor or something?"

"Or his parents?"

"His parents would be the smart choice, At least I think so."

Spinelli sat on her bed, half paying attention to the conversation, and half in her own thoughts as she looked at the house across the street. This was all still a lot to take in. Granted, they haven't been 'friends' for some time, but it was still upsetting to he the guy who used to be the glue that held their group together slice up his arm and brush it off, and that was putting it nicely.

He could push them away as much as he wanted, but that didn't mean that he didn't need help. And they were going to make sure he got it. What were friends for?

Speaking of, he saw the person of interest walk out of his house with a bag of trash in hand. Spinelli watched him do the mundane chore of taking out the garbage, unsure of what else she would expect him to do. TJ checked his phone, and appeared to send s message before walking down the street.

"Hey," she said, getting the others attention. "Where do you think he's going?"

The other came over and joined her at the window.

"I dunno. Do you think we should follow him?" Vince asked.

". . . yeah. Come on, Vince, Gus, Mikey, We're following him. Gretchen, get in your car, we'll call you to follow us."

ZZZ

The four of them followed TJ as he walked away from home, keeping a far enough distance to hide and stay out of his sight if he looked back. At first they were in familiar places, places they've all seen and couldn't say they didn't recognize, but as he continued walking, the buildings because abandoned and further apart.

For a few moments, they lost sight of him between the mix of worn out buildings and overgrown foliage. What was left of the streets came in patches, and they had to watch their step to keep from falling forward.

But then they heard voices, unfamiliar voices, and followed the sound until they reached an opening. What looked like a small gang stood in the opening, some smoking, chatting among themselves. And TJ. he stood with him like it was a normal thing. For all they knew, it could've been.

Until they saw one of them punch him square in the face. Then another, and another, until he was on the ground and kicks were added in.

They couldn't just stand back and watch, and the four of them jumped in, fighting the gang members off of him. It wasn't much of a fight, as they took off after a minute or two. They turned their attention back to TJ, who was struggling to get to his feet. Vince and Gus each grabbed one of his arms to help.

"Hey, are you okay, Teej?" Vince asked.

". . .I didn't need your help. . ."

"What?"

"I said I DIDN'T NEED YOUR HELP. I WAS FINE," he said, pulling out of their grasp.

"No offense, but those guys were beating the crap out of you," Spinelli said. "Why are you mad? We just helped you."

"Who said I wanted it?" He said under his breath. "God _dammit."_

"C'mon, man. Let's head back," Vince said, helping him stay upright. TJ huffed, allowing himself to be lead away from the abandoned buildings. They led him to Gretchens car that she drove according to Spinelli's directions.

The climbed in, squeezed tights shoulder to shoulder as they headed back to Spinelli's place.

Goddamn, how was he going to explain this to those guys? They were already iffy on doing this from the beginning, and now this? They probably won't even give him a chance to explain things. Couldn't even pay his way out of this one. . .

They pulled him out of the car, not giving him a chance to turn and head back to his own place, instead, pulling him right into Spinelli's house and up the stairs to her room.

"God, you look like more of mess than the other night," she said, forcing him to sit on the bed. He doubted it. They had, at best, spent a minute beating him up. "What's the deal with those guys?"

"Yeah, do you owe them money or something?" Vince asked.

". . .this is stupid," TJ finally said. He stood up, no sign of dizziness or pain. He was fine, for all he cared about. Maybe a cut or two, he was numb to them at this point compared to his other injuries he imposes on himself on a regular basis. What a waste of a night. "I'm going home."

"Like hell you are!" Spinelli stood directly in his path, despite being more than a head shorter than him.

"Move, Spinelli."

"No! Not until you tell us what the hell is going on with you! Who were those guys and why were they beating the shit out of you?!"

"Because I _paid_ them to, okay? Does that make you happy? I paid them to beat the shit out of me, because I wanted the shit beaten out of me tonight." He said, looking straight into her eyes. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but damn, he just wanted to be left alone and get to bed. This was a problem for the future him to deal with.

". . .what?"

"What? I told you why. Can I go, now?" TJ didn't wait for a response. He simply moved passed Spinelli and left the rest of them behind, speechless.

ZZZ


	9. Regretti

It wasn't like TJ _liked_ keeping secrets. If anything, he hated it, what with keeping track of them and keeping them straight and minimizing how complex they could get. But in this particular case of self mutilation, keeping his secrets was a necessity.

But apparently, frustration was enough for him to let everything out. Goddammit, he just wanted a night to himself away from those guys but _no,_ they had to follow and ruin everything.

The rest of the weekend was spent at home, ignoring any knocks at the front door, and the text messages and calls from his personal phone. The ones from his second phone, he didn't have a choice to ignore is texts as "Alias".

So he distracted himself by giving out advice to students who were too stupid to do the obvious thing. So many replies of 'give her this', 'tell him that', 'don't fucking cheat that's awful', and even one 'yeah maybe you should tell the police that your parents beat the shit out of you'. He hope that one turned out okay.

But Monday had to come, and he had to go to school and do his best ignore their stares and get to class.

He saw them at the corner of his eye, but he didn't give them any direct attention, and despite the staring, they didn't try to approach him. Walking home, he stopped at the drug store to pick up om more supplies and make sure that he wasn't being followed.

Maybe h could have some time to himself tonight? He was iffy on that. They might make their way in his house and find him enjoying himself again and they'll be on his case about it with the prodding and the questions. Such a hassle.

ZZZ

The others didn't know where to go from here.

Dealing with a gang that TJ owed money to, that would be easier than this. Easier than him getting off on being beaten within an inch of his life, apparently. Jesus tap dancing Christ, where do you even start with that one?

When did this even happen? They haven't hung out with him since middle school but they couldn't have missed _that_ much, could they?

Spinelli sighed, and slouched in the bean bag chair in Gretchen's room. Her's was the biggest out of the five of them, she needed it for her experiments, so it was easier for them to gather at her place.

"It's called masochism," Gretchen said.

"Oh, good. There's a word for it," Gus said. "Anything else?"

"A masochist is a person who 'gets off' on being inflicted with pain. That would explain what we walked in on in his room and what happened the other night," she explained.

"Great. Now what do we do about it?" Vince asked. "Call me crazy but I don't think confronting him will work."

"Maybe we should tie him down and force him to spill," Spinelli said. "That helps me get the information I need."

"Nah. I don't think he'll be that afraid of you, Spinelli. What with us all being friends before," said Vince. "We're going to have to think of something else."

"The irony isn't lost on me that it's was usually TJ who came up with these plans," Gretchen said. "In any case, we should think of something quickly. Considering that we saw needles in his neck, he might do some serious bodily harm soon."

But none of them knew what to do. This was far outside their scope of things they knew how to deal with.

"Maybe we should try understanding," Mikey suggested.

"Understanding? The only thing to understand about what hes doing is that he needs to stop!" Spinelli shouted. "I don't want to understand anything about what hes doing to himself!"

"But think about it, Spinelli! After whats happened TJ probably thinks that we think that he's sick, and doesn't want any of us near him. If we show him that we're willing to understand this, then-"

"Then he would be more willing to open up to us and we'll be able to figure out the root of why hes hurting himself," Gretchen finished. "I think Mikey might have a point. We aren't getting anywhere the way we're going about things now."

"So what, we just go up to him and ask to watch him cut himself up?" Spinelli asked, with a roll of her eyes.

"Maybe. Do you have any better ideas?" Vince asked.

"I don't have the stomach for this," said Gus, already sounding sick from the mention of this. "If this is what we're thing with, then I'm out."

Since none of them had anything better offer, that was the plan they went with.

ZZZ

There was a part of TJ that wondered if the guy behind the counter at the dug store had any questions about why he always came in an brought rubbing alcohol and bandages on a regular basis. But an even bigger part of him didn't care, and that's the part he listened to.

On his way home, while eating some skittles, he got the feeling he was being followed. And given how correct this feeling has been so far, didn't second guess himself. But, he just wanted to get home. If they were just going to follow him, then he was going to ignore him.

He didn't want to deal with their questions and prodding about the night before. God, he knows just how well that conversation would go.

He didn't arrive home soon enough. Luckily, which ever ones of them were following him didn't knock on the door or keep him from closing the door, and he wasn't going to look behind him to check.


	10. Acrimony

When he closed the door to his locker on Friday, for the last time, TJ wanted to get out and away from school, as per usual. He was planning on going to a antique shop that always had a rusty knife or tw, and after everything that's been happening, he needed to the calm quietness that came with restoring them to their former glory.

He did not expect Vince and Spinelli to be standing next to his locker, as if they haven't been following him around for the last few days.

After a deep breath, he was calm enough to not yell at them in the middle of the hallway.

"What," he exhaled. "Do you want?"

"So it's Friday, man. What are you doing this weekend?" Vince asked. All casually, as if they were friends.

"Minding my own business," he said. "Maybe you should do the same."

"C'mon, Teej-"

"Don't call me that."

"It's been forever since we all hung out like we used to. Would one weekend with us kill you?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Well that's too goddamn bad, because we're coming along, whether you like it or not," Spinelli snapped.

That's how he ended up walking down the street with the two of them following close. TJ was hoping that they would get bored and give up on the way to the antique shop, but no. They kept trying to start a conversation, and each time, he would shoot down their attempts with a one word answer.

"You can at least tell us where we're going," Spinelli groaned.

"Here." He stopped in front of an antique shop and went inside. The place was clean but how worn out things were, it felt as if there should be a thin layer of dust on every surface. They followed him as he walked through the thin aisle, careful not to knock anything over.

What he wanted from an old antique shop, the two of them didn't have a clue. But he seemed to know where he was going, not stopping to look at anything. Until he reached the back of the store. It was piled high with old pots, pans, and utensils.

And knives. They noticed those as soon as TJ picked one up and looked it over. The old thing was worn out and rusty, just like the rest of them.

"He's not gonna, _you know_ , with that thing is he?" Vince whispered. "That things all rusty, he'd get an infection or something." Spinelli shrugged.

ZZZ

'This one needs a new handle.'

TJ turned over he knife for a better look. That was fine, he still had some wood to work with in the garage. He picked up a few more rusted knives and turned to go the counter. He saw Vince and Spinelli act like they weren't thinking about what he might do with those knives, but he countered by acting like they weren't there.

Old knives ran cheap, only a few dollars each for something he could restore and get a nice price for. He heard the two of them whisper behind him, about him. They continued to follow him all the way home. They were persistent, he gave them that.

What he didn't want to give them the chance to come into the house, but they barged right on in as he stepped through the front door, Spinelli with no shame and Vince, wishing that his girlfriend had a little more subtly. TJ just rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen.

His unwanted guests watched from the doorway as he grabbed what he needed from under the kitchen sink. A small tub, bottle, some weird rectangular stones, and sat them and the rusty knives at the table before sitting at the small kitchen table.

"If you're gonna be up my ass all day can you at least sit down You standing there is gonna distract me and I'd rather not be while I'm doing this," said TJ. He placed one of the three knives in the tub, one that didn't need it's handle replaced, and poured the rust removal formula over the blade.

"So, what are you doing?" Vince asked. He and Spinelli sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Restoring these," He said, beginning to scrub way at the rust. The foam was tinted a slight orange-red from the rust coming off. Whatever came in that bottle, it worked miracles.

Fortunately, they sat in silence as TJ scrubbed away until the true surface of the knife was free from the layer of rust. After rinsing and drying it off, he began rubbing it against one of the rectangular stones.

Vince and Spinelli didn't know what to do in the uncomfortable silence between them. TJ looked like he was too focused on what he was doing to talk, and they didn't know what to even try to start a conversation about. Any attempts were cut short with a brief answer.

"So. . . when did you start restoring knives?"

"4 years ago."

"Do your parents know you do this?"

"Yeah."

"What do you do with them?"

"Sell them."

After that, they stopped trying. Soon, the sun was dipping under the horizon, and the two of them were dozing off. It was only the sound of a chair scratching against the floor that woke them up. Laying on the table was the knife, now clean, shiny, and perfectly sharp, while TJ was washing his hands at the kitchen sink.

"Be careful with it," He said as Vince picked it up. "It slices through anything without much pressure."

"I could use one of these when I'm cooking," Vince said, turning it over. The blades surface was smooth, reflective, and flawless. Spinelli nudged him. "What?"

"So who do you sell these to?" She asked.

"I know some people," he said. A vague answer was all they were going to get. Grabbing a case from under the kitchen sink, he placed it inside the foam lined case and locked it. "Can you leave now? It's late and I'm going upstairs."

"To what, cut yourself up some more?" She snapped. He knew Spinelli was bold, but her comment, well, that made him chuckle.

"Not tonight," TJ said. "I'm too tired. Maybe tomorrow. Can you leave, now?"

"Fine, whatever. But we're not done," Spinelli said. She and Vince left, and, finally, TJ was had the house to himself. But he wasn't lying about being tired, plus he wasn't in the mood to entertain himself.


	11. Esoteric

"I'm cutting this friendliness bullshit short. We want to watch."

TJ just wanted to finish mowing the lawn. It was still early in the morning and he wanted it done and out the way before the noon and it was the hottest. He'd been putting it off for a few days, might as well get it out of the way. But like many things as of late, it wasn't going his way.

He wondered for a moment if he went to volunteer at the animal shelter before doing this, if they would've came up to him later rather than sooner.

"Watch what?" He asked, finishing the last bit of grass on the lawn. There was still the edges to get with the weed wacker, and weeds to pull from the front garden. . . .

"You cutting yourself up," Spinelli said. She and Vince stood on the edge of the lawn.

". . . .Why?" For once, they had him stumped, which was a bit refreshing. He was used to them trying to reestablish some sort of friendship with him, but this?

Spinelli shrugged, folding her arms. "Humor us."

"I'd rather not," he said, pushing the mower into the garage. The two of them followed. "The five of you been following and watching me for weeks. I want to be left alone."

"It wouldn't be all of us. Gus can't handle blood," Vince said, pressing the conversation forward.

It was bad enough that he had to get used to them following him and trying to start some sort of friendship or whatever the hell they were up to, but this? Nah.

But maybe if they were put off enough by seeing it up and close, it would get them to call him a lost cause and find some business of their own to mind.

"Fine, whatever," he said, grabbing the weed wacker. "Tonight."

"Tonight?" Vince asked.

TJ nodded, and grabbed the weed wacker. "Can you go away, now?" By the time he was back on the lawn, they left.

ZZZ

They weren't going to show up.

His parents were out for dinner and a movie, they won't be back for hours; he had the house to himself.

They had to be bluffing.

He grabbed what he needed from under his bed. His trusty pocketknife, a few needles, tissues and paper towels, rubbing alcohol, and bandages.

There was no way they were going to show up.

Goddamn, did he need this after all these weeks of bullshit-

tap* *tap*

He paused, looking at his window. A small rock was thrown against the glass again. Sighing, he walked over and opened it. Standing in his back yard were the others, minus Gus, just like Vince said they would arrive.

Shit.

"We tried knocking on the door but you wouldn't answer," Spinelli shouted. "Have you started, yet?"

"No," he said. "Hold on, I'll be down in a second."

Within a few minutes, the others were following him upstairs and through the hall they haven't been through in years. TJ paused for a second to grab a towel from the hall closet before they reached his room. It certainly looked cleaner than they remember him being.

"So, uh, how are we going to do this?" Vince asked.

"On the floor," said TJ.

He didn't do this on the floor that often. His desk was just more convenient, and it didn't have as big of a risk of getting blood on the carpet.

He sat against his bed, while the others sat opposite. They watched as he laid the towel down and moved everything from his desk to the floor in the same neat and organized way. The number of questions they had only grew when the four of them saw the extent of 'supplies' he had on hand.

"I didn't expect you to come," he said. He started disinfecting everything with the rubbing alcohol in a small dish. "I thought you were bluffing."

"Well, we weren't," said Spinelli.

"Clearly." While wiping off his pocketknife, his phone vibrated. He checked it, and turned it off before tossing it on the bed.

"Who was that?" Gretchen asked.

"No one," he said. "Do me a favor and turn off your phones?"

"Why?" Asked Vince.

"To make sure you aren't recording me," TJ said. "Call me an asshole, but I don't trust any of you. I'm not starting until I see you all turning your phone off and leaving it in front of you where I can see it."

To prove his point, once he was done cleaning off his 'tools', he leaned back and waited on them to do what he said. So they did. Once he saw their phones off and on the floor, he grabbed the first needle in one hand and tapped his fingers along his arm.

His forearms were a no-go. Still a little too sore from the last time. His upper arms, though, that might be fine. He preferred his left arm to work with, but he's been giving it a break for a while, allowing the scars to fully heal and disappear. His right upper arm was off limits, though.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asked.

"Checking for somewhere I can work with," he said plainly. The cuts on his stomach, he wanted to give that a few more days just to be sure. His neck though, that was fine, pretty much just up to how much he wants to freak out his audience. Whether or not he was in the mood, though, that was the question.

But his audience, they were getting bored.

He picked up his pocketknife and gave it one last look over before pressing the blade against his left forearm. And dragged it across his skin, leaving a thin cut behind as blood seeped out and traveled down his arm. Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And agai-

His pocket knife fell to the ground as he gripped his bloody arm. The unplanned pain made him curl in on himself as blood seeped through his fingers. Goddammit, he didn't mean to cut that deep.

"A-are you okay. . .?"

"I'm fine."

"But you're bleeding _a lot,_ dude."

"I said I'm fine," he said, collecting himself from the shock. "I just cut too deep. It's not like I haven't done it before."

Settling into calm, deep breaths, he looked over the cut after wiping the blood away with tissue. not too deep. He just need to sew that up when he was done. For now, it could wait. After making sure his hand wasn't shaking, he picked up the knife again and focused on his lower arm instead. It's still not too warm for long sleeves, anyways.

1, 2, 3. . .

He was surprised they haven't left at this point, especially after that deep cut. Good thing he stocked up on supplies earlier. Maybe they'll leave when he's sewing himself up like a rag doll.

". . -ey. . .h-hey. . ! Hey!"

One of them yelling brought him out of his trance to see he did more than expected on his arm. It was only then that they pain sunk in. And he sunk it in even deeper when he squeezed and pressed down on them.

"Question." He blinked, and look at the four of them, each having their own look of barely contained horror.

"What?"

"Is this like. . .a sexual thing, or. . . ?"

"Nothing is a sexual thing. I'm asexual." He lifted his hand for a better look. Today was not a day to go any further. He wiped his hands as clean as he could before grabbing the rubbing alcohol and bandages. "I'm surprised you stayed this long."

"We said we wanted to watch. And see why the hell you do this to yourself."

"Did you find your answer?"

"No! God, no, TJ. We all just watched you slice up your arm like it was a piece of meat! And we still don't understand why the _fuck_ you do this-"

"Because it feels good." He threaded a needle, and tied it into a tight knot.

"It _feels good?!"_

 _"_ Wait, you aren't gonna stitch yourself up, are you?" Gretchen asked. "You need to go to the hospital and get that done by a doctor."

"I know how to do it myself. I didn't cut into muscle." He took extra care to cleaning that cut in particular before starting. "I dunno what you were expecting. You got what you came here for."

"Teej, just. . .try to think about how this looks on our end."

"Probably horrific," he said. "So now what? Are you going to keep following me around?"

"God is that all you care about?!" Spinelli snapped. She stood up and towered over him as he stayed sitting, but that didn't seem to phase him as he continued patching up his cut.

"Spinelli, please, you said you weren't going to-"

"I know what I said, Mikey! To hell with what I said! And goddammit, look at us!" Spinelli grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Calmly, he took her hand off her face.

"I like to cut myself. I like getting beaten up." He tied off the end of his homemade suture before reaching for the bandages for the rest of his arm. "I'm not depressed. It's not a sexual thing. I just like _pain._ I suppose you can call it masochism, if you want, but without the sexual bits."

"But why?!"

He shrugged, and climbed onto his bed. "Who knows? I just do. So if you're worried about me offing myself, don't be." He picked up his phone. "I'm ordering a pizza. Either leave or get out money if you're staying."

They didn't. Not after seeing what they did. But TJ wasn't complaining. That just meant he could put pineapple on his pizza without any protest.


	12. Bewilder

"So did you find out anything?"

They still had to tell Gus what they saw that night. The guy didn't handle blood very well, not even his own, but he was still in on this whole thing. And really, after what they saw last night, it was definitely the right choice for him to stay out of this one.

"We went with a few questions, and left with even more," said Gretchen. "It was. . an experience."

That was putting it lightly. Hearing that he liked to hurt himself was one thing. That was something they could deny and tell themselves he was messing with them. But seeing him slice up his arm and sew himself up like a ragdoll was another.

"It was pretty bad, Gus. He was cutting himself up like it was nothing," said Vince. "He needs help."

"So what do we do, now?" Gus asked. "Do we tell someone?"

That was starting to look like the only option that was going to get them anywhere. Between being present while he cut himself and Spinelli's screaming not phasing him in the slightest, it didn't look like they were getting through to him.

"I wanna keep trying on our own," Spinelli said.

"Really? You were the more upset out of all of us," said Gretchen. "At least last night."

"I know, I know. Can you blame me? He's acting like this is normal and we aren't getting through to him," she said. She gestured to across the lunch room where the topic of their conversation sat, at his usual table by himself. "Anyone else have any ideas?"

The others shrugged, just as empty for ideas as she was.

"Well, what about Alias?" Gus asked.

"Alias? That number people text for advice?" Vince asked. Gus nodded. "What about it?"

"Maybe whoever it is can give us advice about how to handle this," he said. "If they can help other people, they might be able to help us, too."

"It's worth a shot," Vince said.

With that, Gus

ZZZ

It wasn't like he didn't have hobbies. Sure inflicting self harm and sharpening knives were a few of them, but TJ wouldn't say he was completely obsessed with it, despite what a certain group of 5 may be thinking recently.

He walked through the drawing aisle of the a local arts and crafts store, looking at the different sketchbooks available. So many sizes and prices and types of paper, he had to wonder how much of it was genuinely needed and how much was just for making money.

The only reason he was even buying one of those things was because he kept filling up his notebooks with sketches instead of notes.

He opted for one of a similar size on the cheaper end. No need to buy something expensive for a hobby he didn't take seriously.

He left the store with a sketchbook and some cheap pencils before heading home.

ZZZ

598-7477: is this alias?

: Yep.

598-7477: I need some advice. See I have this friend right, and me and my other friends just found out that hes hurting himself

598-7477: we're trying to get him to see that he should stop but nothing is getting through to him

598-7477: do you have any advice?

: If he's your friend, why wont he listen

598-7477: we uh, haven't hung out in a while.

: idk, try talking to him until he talks back

:

ZZZ

One of the most horrifying sounds TJ would say he ever heard was his mothers scream.

Specifically when she caught him slicing up his arms in his room. He was 13 at the time, right at the beginning of his budding fascination of masochism and before he thought too much about ways to keep it hidden. Like locking his bedroom door.

Really, being a 13 year old boy alone should've taught him that.

His mother screamed, grabbed his arms, called his father, and he was rushed to the hospital for stitches. He was bombarded with questions about it for hours during and after they came back home.

He had to deal with two years of therapy after all that. It could've been worse, he supposed. By the end of it he left with a 100% diagnosis of not having any of depression, anxiety, or schizophrenic disorders. That, and seeing their son didn't have any new scars was enough to convince his parents he didn't need therapy anymore.

As it turned out, he was a fantastic actor.

ZZZ

"So did that alias guy ever answer you, Gus?"

The five of them, despite having things that pulled their attention away, still had their traditions for spending time together, occasionally. Even before what they were calling 'the incident'. It used to be getting something down at Kelso's, on a Saturday, before the old guy retired to Florida. Luckily there was a diner not too far by that was good enough.

"Yeah," said Gus. "They said that we should keep trying to talk to him."

"What kind of advice is that?! We're right back where we started," Spinelli said. She slammed down her thankfully empty glass.

"For now I think that might be our best option," Gretchen offered. "I've been giving it some thought. It's been so long since we've all been together, he doesn't trust us. But if we're persistent, he might start trusting us again."

"If you say so. I would say we should knock some sense into him but he might actually like that," Spinelli said.

"How about we start now? He's right outside," Mikey said. He pointed to the front window of the diner. The others looked and saw the subject of their conversation walking by. Since it was Gus' turn to pay this time around, he stayed behind to take care of the check while the others chased after him.

ZZZ

TJ was well aware that 90 percent of the time he looked like he was lost in his own thoughts, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of his surroundings. Especially lately. He just wanted to enjoy his walk home and not be followed but the universe just didn't have that in mind for him tonight.

He didn't need to look back to see he was being followed by the others, and he certainly wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of looking at them.

"Hey, man," Vince said, catching up with him first. "What are you up to?"

"Minding my own business," said TJ. "I'm going home. Stop following me."

"C'mon, it's Saturday night. There's plenty to do instead of spending the night at home," he said. "What's in the bag?"

There was this short two lane bridge over a river on the way home. Of course there were faster routes to take but this path was much more peaceful, so it was the way TJ preferred when coming home from the city.

While the others continued to try and talk to him, TJ ignored them for the mot part. He shouldn't have told Gus to keep being persistent. It was only a matter of time that one of them would text "alias" for advice, but some part of him was hoping the five of them thought the whole thing was stupid. But telling them to leave him alone, that would've been to suspicious. Truly, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Half way across the bridge, TJ stopped. He thought he heard something, and listened again.

. . .

Something had to be down there.

"What are you doing, Teej?" Vince asked.

"Don't call me that," he answered, though it was much quieter than his normal voice. He turned to the edge of the bridge and leaned over, just enough to look over the side.

Yeah, there was definitely something down there.

He placed his bag down and climbed on the edge of the bridge.

"Hey! What are you doing?!"

"Nothing."

TJ didn't answer them. Instead, he swung his legs over to the other side.

"TJ, are you crazy?! You're gonna fall!"

"It's fine."

He was never one to have a fear of heights. a childhood spent climbing a jungle gym that was taller than the school was the cause of that. Besides, falling down to the river below wouldn't be that bad. Tt was pretty deep, so he wouldn't hit any rocks, and tonight, the water was calm. He'd be fine.

"See, he's out of his mind!"

Probably.

"I told you he had to be suicidal!"

50/50.

With his hands gripping the edge tightly, he twisted his body until he faced the bridge. Slowly, he lowered himself until his feet touched one of the edges under the bridge. But he couldn't get any further, when his arms were grabbed by Vince and Mikey.

"Can you let me go?" He asked.

"No! We're not just gonna let you kill yourself, Teej!"

". . . .oh my God," he groaned. They were still working with that theory. "There's something down here I'm trying to reach. Let go of one of my hands so I can get it."

"Any how do we know you aren't gonna jump?" Spinelli snapped.

"If I wanted to, I would've," he said. "It's right by my foot, alright? If it makes you feel better, then both of you grab one arm."

While they were still unsure, Vince let go of his left hand and quickly held on to his right arm. Him and Mikey were both ready to pull him back over the edge if he tried anything.

And they almost did when he leaned down further over the bridge.

"One of you grab this."

With his free hand, he held up a damp, tied potato sack. Once Gretchen had it, he climbed back onto the bridge and took back the wiggling sack. It took a bit of work to undo the knot, but once he did we was greeted by a small litter of soaked kittens that were climbing on top of each other.

"Are you kidding me? You were trying to save a bag of kittens?"

"You should've called someone. What if you slipped and fell?"

"It's fine."

"TJ IF YOU SAY 'IT'S FINE' ONE MORE TIME I'M GONNA KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU GET OFF ON IT."

By some miracle they didn't fall over the edge and drown. Some people were so inhumane. It's not like there weren't animal shelters around here. He knew; he worked at one. And kittens get adopted so fast, too. They had a decent amount of weight to them, though. They were probably old enough to eat scrambled eggs, just a substitute until he could take them to the shelter in the morning; it was closed now.

"-are you gonna with them?"

"Huh?" TJ asked. He was busy looking over the kittens in his arms rather than listening to whatever it was they were ranting about.

"What are you going to do with them?" Mikey asked.

"I'm taking them home," he said. "Please stop following me."

For once, they actually left him alone.


	13. Dichotomy

TJs parents were used to him coming home with strays.

It started when he was 14 or 15, and he came home with three kittens in a soaked box that he found in the rain. They appreciated how caring he was for animals, but that didn't mean he was going to turn their house into a zoo.

And he was fine with that, and always took them to the animal shelter after a day or two. Besides, it's not like he went out looking for strays. He just seemed to run across them a lot.

ZZZ

"He scares us half to death and all he says is 'don't follow me'!"

While TJ split off from them, the remaining five headed to Vince's place, since it was the closest.

"He could at least be thankful that we were worried he would fall," Spinelli said. "We watch him cutting and he acts _annoyed_ that we think he's about to off himself? What the fuck else were we supposed to think?!"

"We have to keep in mind that we're dealing with someone who's sense of safety is skewed, to say the least," Gretchen said. "If he's willing to insert needles into his neck, then it makes sense that he wouldn't see standing over the edge of a bridge as dangerous."

Great. Just another layer in this mess that they were trying to figure out. Still, it was kind of reassuring that he cared about _something_ and wasn't completely cold to everyone and everything around him. The five of them at around in silence, trying to think of where to go from here.

"Is he, you know, okay to be around animals?" Gus asked, breaking the silence. "I-I'm not trying to say TJ would hurt them, but, you know, considering what we know now. . ."

". . .Nah. No. He wouldn't. I mean, why would he bother saving them?" said Vince. "If you want, we could go over to his house in the morning."

ZZZ

The five kittens he found under the bridge were up and munching away at some wet food he kept under the kitchen sink. By now there was always some food and basic supplies around the house when he found strays like this.

The little things had eat voraciously when he got them home last night and settled down next to the warm water bottle he placed next to them. It was a good thing he found them when he did. They could've drowned.

One of them found his pajama bottoms particularly interesting and started chewing on the fabric.

It was 8 AM. On a Sunday. The shelter didn't open until 10.

All things considered they looked to be in good shape. No ear mites or fleas, no sign of respiratory problems, they looked to be a healthy weight. . .but someone still left them to die.

Sometimes TJ couldn't stand people.

The five of them entertained themselves with the few toys he had for them, as well with playing with each other. It hasn't been 24 hours since he found them and their little personalities were already shining through.

There was a tap at his window. He looked away from the kittens to see who it was, and who else would it be but the five of _them._

"What?" He asked

"Can we come in?"

He rolled his eyes, but still went downstairs to let them in through the back. Better to deal with their questions now, than later. Luckily when he returned, the kittens hadn't found their way off the blanket.

"See, Gus? They're fine," Mikey whispered to him.

"Do you bring home strays often?" Gretchen asked. TJ nodded and sat back down on the floor. One of the calicos, the same one that though his pajama bottoms were a decent snack, decided he was perfect for climbing. He waved a feather toy for the others to play with. When the five of them sat around the blanket, a few kittens meowed and investigated by sniffing them.

"Hey, this one reminds me of Stella," Mikey said. He picked up the only tuxedo kitten in the bunch. It's fur was of varying lengths, due to it having so many mats. TJ had tried to comb them out, but after seeing the pain it caused, he grabbed a pair of clippers and cut them out.

"What ever happened to Stella?" Gus asked.

"She had to be put down," said Mikey. "She was actually really sick, and the vet couldn't help her."

While the others talked among themselves, TJ's attention was on his phone. He sent quick text to one of the workers at the shelter letting them know to expect 5 new animals as soon as they opened. And since he's going down there he might as well help out, even if he didn't work that day. The dogs always needed walking, especially the bigger ones. Not like he was going anything else today.

Hell, if the five people in front of him were going to follow him all day, he might be able to trick them into helping out.

The kitten on his shoulder decided it was time to come down and join his siblings. A few shaky steps down and it lost it's footing, slipping, and sinking it's claws into his forearm as it dropped to the carpet. It left behind a long and considerably deep cut.

" _Shit, shit, **fucking shit!"**_ He swore, gripping his arm. TJ placed the kitten back with the others before rushing to the attached bathroom.

"Geez. You've got some claws on you, little guy." Vince picked up the offending kitten, who meowed in response.

"For someone who cuts himself, you'd think a little cat scratch wouldn't bother him," Spinelli said. One kitten tugged on her shoelace.

". . . That's a good point," said Gretchen. "Maybe it was particularly deep wound?"

The topic of their conversation came out of the bathroom holding a paper towel to his arm. TJ pulled out the box from under his bed and shuffled through for the bandages.

"Hey, Teej-"

"Stop calling me that," he said, cutting Vince off. "What?"

"How could that cat scratch hurt you when you cut yourself up on a regular basis?" Spinelli asked bluntly. "I mean, you should be used to it, right?"

"It's different," he said. Once he was satisfied with covering up the wound, he turned his attention back to the kittens, a cat nail clipper in hand.

"It can't be that different," she said, folding her arms. "A cut is a cut."

"It is." He started with the calico responsible for his new cut. After wiping away the few drops of blood on its claws, he carefully snipped off the tips.

"How?"

"I wasn't expecting it, for one," he said. "And I would never use an animal for that. That's sick."

"Oh, so _that's_ sick, but you doing it to yourself isn't?"

"Yep."

They were taking to getting their nails trimmed well. He was used to cats being fussy about it. While they weren't used to the feeling afterwards, they were doing a lot better than he expected.

"I'm taking them to the shelter, so if you all could leave, that'd be great," said TJ.

"I can give you a ride, if you want. That way they won't have to be in the cold," Vince offered.

TJ closed his eyes. He was going to grab a box, stuff it full of blankets and carry them in it with the top closed. He didn't want to be in an enclosed space with these people more than necessary, but the kittens have been out in the cold long enough, so he's willing to suck it up for their benefit.

"Thanks," he said.

ZZZ

The animal shelter smelled like, well, animals. While TJ told hem that they could drive away and leave when they arrived, the five of them, maintaining their persistent intrusion on his life, insisted on coming in.

The six of them could hear dogs barking from the kennels further in the building. TJ carried the box to the counter.

"Are these the kittens you texted me about?" The girl behind the counter asked.

"Yeah." TJ opened the top. "They don't have fleas but you should give them the medication just in case."

He held up one of the kittens for her to see.

"Aww, so cute! I can't believe someone would just abandoned them like that," the girl said. "They'll get adopted by the end of the week, I bet. I'll get them settled in."

"Do any of the dogs need to be walked?" He asked.

"Nah, we have a bunch of people who need to do community service taking care of that," she said. "You don't even work today, but if you want you can go feed the guinea pigs."

While she took the box back to where the cats were housed, he headed further into the shelter.

"You work here?" Gus asked. TJ nodded. "Why?"

"I don't have to deal with people," he said, leading the way. "Animals are easier."

As the sounds from the barking dogs lowered, they reached another room. Two identical cages were on opposite walls, with a second 'floor' giving the guinea pigs scampering inside extra room.

"If you're going to follow me all day, then you can help." TJ opened a nearby fridge. As soon as he did, the room was filled with the squeaks of the small animals. "Come help me get the food ready."

Between the six of them, cutting up the different fruits and vegetables was made into a quick task. Lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, bananas, cucumbers, the list was seemingly endless. But the task that would take him a solid 30 minutes was cut short.

He kneeled down at the large cage, and the guinea pigs ran up to the edge where he was, waiting for their snack. He started handing them pieces of fruits and vegetables before they ran into their huts with them, being greedy little pigs true to their name.

How he could be so gentle with animals but so cruel to himself, they were having trouble understanding. It wasn't like they expected TJ to be killing small animals in his spare time or anything, but the difference in how he treats himself and how he treats the animals was hard to ignore.

"Do they have names?" Mikey asked, joining him in front of the cage. TJ nodded.

"That one, the one trying to get this piece of eggplant," he said. They all were trying to get something to eat, but a white guinea pig with a tuft of brown fur on its head stood out when he held out a slice of eggplant. "His name is Menlo."

" _Menlo?"_

"Mm-hmm. He likes his hut to stay clean, and squeaks the most when the cage is too dirty," said TJ. He gave the veggie to the small animal and it ran off with it. He continued to list them off as he handed out the food. A gray, curly furred pig named Muriel who liked grapes but didn't like any of the other guinea pigs except for a small dark furred one named Weems that sat next to her. A dark brown long haired pig named Petey who's favorite hut was on the second floor of the cage. The smallest light brown girl named Theresa who liked to chew on the chewible log huts scattered around. A tri colored pig named Gordy who snatched the food out of his hands particularly fast and ran off with it even faster.

Considering how difficult it was to get him to talk, hearing him talk about the names and personalities of guinea pigs was refreshing.

"There's one more, but she's new and shy," he said. It took a bit of searching, but he spotted the golden furred pig hiding in the farthest hut. "I haven't named her yet. I think she likes cucumbers."

Just to see, he placed a piece of said vegetable near her hiding spot. It took a few minute before she came out, grabbed it, and ran back in.

"Yeah, she likes them," he smiled. "I think I'll name her Cindy."

Well.

Seeing him smile was something new. Even if it wasn't towards them, it was still something.


	14. Camaraderie

On a fundamental level, TJ understood that at 13, girls were something that should be taking a considerable amount of his attention. But knowing that didn't change him not seeing the appeal. They were just _girls._ Apparently that was enough for the guys to talk about them in the locker room. But there was a world of other topics to talk about.

That opinion didn't change when he got a hold of one of his older cousins Playboy magazines. Once the surprise wore off, he put the magazine back and didn't give it second thought.

ZZZ

True to her word, the kittens were all adopted by the end of the week.

TJ sat at his usual table during lunch, looking at the pictures Lisa, his coworker down at the shelter, had sent him. They were of the kittens and their new families before they were taken home, even the calico that scratched his arm.

Good.

"Are those kittens?"

He looked up. It was one of the girls that somehow thought his empty table was an invitation to join him. Sarah, he remembered was her name. TJ didn't dislike them, but he didn't like them either. They were just sort of _there_ sometimes. They didn't bother him enough to ask them to leave and didn't come over often enough to put much thought into it past 'oh, they're coming over today, huh'.

"Yeah," he said, swiping to another picture.

"Are they yours?" She asked, taking a seat next to him.

Still, when they _did_ come over, there was the question.

Why?

"No. I found them and took them to the shelter," he said. "These are pictures of them getting adopted."

"Aw, that's so sweet," said Sarah. "Casey, come over here and look at these kittens!"

It wasn't like he tried to get their attention. He was't interested in girls like the vast majority of teenage boys were, so that wasn't the case. Maybe they had a thing for quiet guys with a constant look of indifference. . .

This was one of those things he was never going to understand.

Less than five minutes later his table consisted of him and 5 girls who were passing this phone around to look at not only the pictures of the 5 rescues, but the other pictures he took of the animals there.

"You really like animals?" One of the girls, Daisy asked. She was super feminine, always wearing skirts and dresses and lace and flower prints and her hair always in an some sort of elaborate braid. Epitome of 'girly'. Her boyfriend texted him for advice for a present a while ago. . .

"Yeah."

"That's so cool. When most guys say they like animals, they just mean dogs. I wish more guys liked smaller animals."

A glance across the lunch room and TJ saw her boyfriend staring him down. If looks could kill, he'd be 12 feet under instead of 6. Oh well. He should listen to his girlfriend more.

ZZZ

They had to blink a couple of times to make sure their eyes weren't tricking them.

The same guy who didn't want to be bothered with friends, new or old, who apparently hated his old nickname, and only opened up when the conversation was about rescued animals was attracting a gaggle of girls at his table.

Without even trying.

"I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing," Gretchen spoke up, breaking the silence.

"It's a good thing. I think? I mean, us guys would kill for a bunch of girls to come up to us," said Vince. "Not me, though. I have a girlfriend."

"Speaking of, where is Spinelli, anyways?" Gus asked.

"She said she had to take a phone call," said Gretchen. "I am interested in what the conversation at that table, however."

"Can't you use Galileo so we can listen in?" asked Gus. Gretchen shook her head.

"Normally, yes. But it's a cafeteria; it's crowded. It'll be difficult to focus on that with so many conversations happening at once," she explained.

"Hey, guess what?" Spinelli ran up to the table. "I just got off the phone with my cousin, and shes gonna let me use her cabin up in the mountains!"

"You mean your crazy rich cousin with the huge cabin right next to a lake?" Vince asked.

"Yeah, that one. She said we can use on winter break," she said. "So don't make any other plans, we're spending a week up there. So, what's going on?"

"We're trying to figure out what going on over there." Gus gestured to the table across the lunch room where TJ sat at a table with a group of girls joining him. "They just walked over and now they're sitting with him."

". . .That's weird," said Spinelli. "He hasn't told them to fuck off, yet?"

"Doesn't look like it," Vince said. "So far it looks like he's not bothered by them."

"So he's fine with a group of girls he doesn't know coming up to him, but he acts like we're torturing him for wanting to have a conversation," she said, folding her arms. "And he won't even tell us why he hates us."

"I don't think he hates us, Spinelli," Mikey said. "I think he might be put off with how forward we're being, but I don't think he _hates_ us. He doesn't have a reason to."

The conversation paused after Mikey's words. He was right. Besides trying to spend time with him, TJ didn't have much of a reason to hate them. It was hard enough to get him angry, and probably harder to make him hate. It's not like wanting to be left alone automatically meant that person hated you.

"How about we invite him up to your cousins cabin with us?" Mikey suggested.

"He's going to say no," she said. "I don't care; we'll drag him up there by his feet if we have to."

ZZZ


	15. Ennui

Menlo was a person of habit. Wake up, take medication, go to school, come home, eat dinner, take medication, check schedule for tomorrow, sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Looking back on his childhood he had no idea why such strict habits settled in at such a young age, but he welcomed the advantages of being a naturally organized person. Know what to do, and planning ahead of time put his anxiety at ease.

So it's quite a surprise when his oldest former childhood friend showed up at his doorstep.

While he did his homework at the kitchen table, TJ made himself at home, sprawling out on the living room couch for a nap. He had to make him promise to straighten the pillows afterwards, but Menlo was grateful that he was quiet. The conversation when Menlo opened the door was short and to the point.

"Hey, Menlo. I need a place to hide out for a few hours."

"Okay. . . but why does it have to be at my house, exactly?"

"Because this is the last place they would think to look for me."

Menlo didn't know who 'they' were, but he was pretty sure it wasn't anyone dangerous, and that enough to let TJ in. Besides, he was sure he would just wait until his mother came and she was still convinced the two of them were friends and would invite him in, anyways.

After 30 minutes, it was time for a perfectly scheduled break. He stood from the table and meandered into the living room. TJ still slept, but at least his feet was off the couch. Seeing that his arm was exposed, Menlo got a closer look.

"What?"

Menlo nearly jumped out of his skin. He was too lost in his thoughts to notice TJ looking up at him through sleepy eyes.

"You're still doing this," Menlo said, tracing a few of the extremely faint but still visible cuts on his arms.

"Yep."

"I suppose I don't have to tell you how dangerous this is, again," he said.

"Remember our agreement, Menlo," TJ said. "You don't acknowledge my cutting and I don't acknowledge that bottle of Adderall you keep."

"I remember," Menlo sighed. "That one looks pretty bad, though."

"This one?" TJ pointed to his newest cut, the one he wasn't responsible for. "A kitten gave me this one. It climbed on me, then tried to climb down and scratched me. It hurt like a bitch. I don't cut that deep."

"But you still do," Menlo mumbled.

"You act like I'm trying to off myself," TJ said, turning over. "You know I'm not."

"I know. That doesn't make me feel better about it, however," Menlo said. He returned to his seat at the kitchen table. "As long as I'm not getting a phone call from you out of a mental health institution."

"Noted."

ZZZ

TJ had bad grades.

That was something his parents were used to when he was in elementary school. It wasn't severe enough that he ever needed to stay back a grade or go to summer school, but it was enough that his parents hired tutors for him. Besides, between the things he does at school and his regular speaking for himself in court (seriously there had to be a record somewhere for how often he went to court in the fourth grade), they knew their son wasn't dumb.

But it took the fourth tutor to ask the question if he was dyslexic.

Not only did he have dyslexia, but dyscalculia as well, because school was never meant to be easy for him, apparently.

ZZZ

After erasing what was on his paper for the tenth time, TJ crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. Whoever decided that chemical formulas should be written like this needed to be punched in the face. The teacher wrote a few on the board for them to work through, and while most students had gotten in groups, TJ stayed by himself, as per usual. It's not like anyone would be there to help him on the test so he might as well figure out on his own.

Working with letters and number alone was hard enough. . .

"If you're having trouble, I can help." Gretchen made her way over from her seat to next to his.

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you're struggling," she said.

"I know what to do, alright?" He said. "I'm fine."

He erased his work again, leaving nothing but what he copied from the board. This wasn't going to work.

"Do you have any graph paper?"

"Yeah, sure." She tore a piece of graph paper from a notebook and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, placing it over his notebook. Just like that, the letters and numbers stayed still and he was able to make heads and tails of it.

"What does it do?" Gretchen asked.

"It keeps everything still so I can read it."

"Keeps everything still?" She asked. "Wait, are you dyslexic?" He nodded. "That explains a lot."

TJ wasn't going to ask what she meant about that. Instead, he focused on getting the work done. Luckily, Gretchen didn't bombard him with questions but she sure as hell was watching him.

"Can you tell the others to let up on the following me schtick? I'm actually busy this weekend and I'd rather not have you guys up my ass," he said as the bell rang. "Thanks."

ZZZ

"TJ, is that you?"

TJ nudged the front door shut and dropped his backpack right next to it. Homework can wait a few hours, at least. Right now he needed food.

"Yeah, it's me, mom," he called out.

"Your medication is on the kitchen table," she said. "Me and your father are going to meet up with some old friends and won't be back until late."

"Okay."

Like his mom said, the familiar white paper bag with his name on it sat on the table. He gave the bag a small shake and heard the pills inside rattle. If he was taking one now he wouldn't be able to eat right away. . .They can wait until later. His stomach was starting to hurt from how hungry he was.


	16. Adjournment

"Come out your cave, evil dragon! I have come to slay you and save the beaut'ful princess!"

"RAWR! You can not pass, 'cause I breath fire, roar!"

There was a lot of things TJ could've been doing on a Saturday afternoon. Sleeping. Walking dogs at the animal shelter, maybe. Eating. Hell, a good run sounded nice right about now; it's been a while since he went on a run. But he was a person who kept his promises, from going to Menlo's birthday party every year, to the promise he made to babysit his cousins.

"Don't worry, Princess TJ, I'll save you!" One of the girls, Sarah shouted. She, like the other 2 girls in the group, wore princess costumes, along with cardboard armor decorated with markers.

"ROAR! You and what army?!" Louis, one of the boys, said. He stood with two more boys, and all three of them wore cardboard costumes with drawings on them to resemble a fierce, fire breathing dragon. Or so they said.

"Me and THIS army!" As she raised her sword, three more girls jumped out of the bushes, ready for war. "We are the legion of super pretty and pow'ful princesses! He fight for love and justice! And in the name of the kingdom, the father, the son, and the holy spirit-"

"WE'LL PUNISH YOU!"

In hindsight, letting them watch Sailor Moon was a fantastic idea.

While the kids around him played with their cardboard swords and shields TJ pulled out his phone, making sure not to hit his cousin Davie when he moved. Out of the seven, he was easily the quietest, and was glued to his side as soon as TJ stepped out of his bedroom. Granted, they all were usually hovering around him when the family was together, but Davie was the most attached today.

For as rowdy and excitable as the kids could be, they at least gave him an excuse to each a bunch of junk today.

ZZ

Even at twelve, TJ knew there wasn't much he could've said to convince his parents that he didn't need to see a therapist. And he racked his head something. Anything. It's not like he didn't have experience in convincing adults of his perspective, but this time, he had nothing.

By the following weekend, he was sitting in a psychologists office, and it looked every bit of the stereotype, complete with a large window and one of those weird couches.

The therapist, Dr. Hardy, asked him a few seemingly harmless questions at first. His name, his age, what grade he was in. Nothing TJ gave much thought about. But he did notice the doctor writing things down each time he answered.

"Why do you think you're here, TJ?"

". . ." TJ didn't answer that one right away. He was the therapist. His parents must've talked to him before about why he was brought here. What was the point in asking him? "My parents already told you why I'm here."

"But I'm asking you," said Dr. Hardy. "I want to hear why you think you're here."

"It doesn't matter why I _think_ I'm here. My parents told you why. I'm not answering a question you already know the answer to."

ZZ

"I'm hungry. . ." Davie whispered.

There was a chorus of 'me toos' following his statement.

"Okay, okay. You're all hungry. I am, too. It's about time for lunch, anyways," TJ said. "I'll toss a couple pizzas in the oven, hows pizza?"

There was a second chorus of excited 'PIZZA'. He left them to continue playing in the backyard as he went inside, with Davie holding onto his hand tightly, of course.

By some miracle, he has yet to have see the others poking their noses around his house. Maybe they took his request to be left alone seriously for once. Or they had a life. Please let them have a life, one that keeps them away from him and out of his business.

"You sure you don't want to play with your sisters and cousins?" TJ asked Davie. The 4 year old shook his head. His aunt had said Davie has been very quiet since his older brother went off to college. "Okay. But that means you have to help me with the pizza."

He was starting to feel old. It was barely noon and these kids were running him ragged. With the pizzas in the oven, he stayed at the kitchen table, watching the kids through the screen door. They'll be fine and the backyard was fenced. They were gonna be running around twice as fast after lunch. . .he could take them to the park. He definitely needed to start running again.

ZZ

"The thing with any mental illness if that there is a threshold that had be met in order to make a diagnosis."

At the end of every session, Dr. Hardy always wanted to talk to his parents alone. While he didn't like being talked about like he was a problem to be solved, it gave him time to walk around the halls and get a good look of the city out of the buildings windows. Besides, any protest at that point would just give them more to talk about.

"Considering the reason you brought your son to me, I had thought that Major Depressive Disorder would be a suspect, but your son simply doesn't meet the full diagnostic criteria for it. He may have a bit of minor, temporary depression, it's nothing that a doctor would be rushing to prescribe him something for."

They rarely came to the city, especially this part. They probably would have if their mother kept her promise about taking them to shabbat more often. Ah well. TJ liked his weekends just the way they were. Until recently that is. He'll be coming down here in a few months for his bar mitzvah anyways. He stopped walking when he caught sight of that huge comic book store he went to back in forth grade. Comicopolus, was it? It's been a long time since he stepped inside.

"There is however this disorder, called schizoid personality disorder, that I feel fits your son much more closely. This is marked with lack of interest in social relationships, detachment, apathy, and emotional coldness towards others. The problem with making this diagnosis and any case is that it's difficult to discern from someone who is simply extremely introverted. But you told me that your son was extremely social until a few years ago, which had me thinking of it."

Then again it didn't take long after elementary school for him to lose interest in comics all together. His old ones were packed away in an old toy chest in his room, untouched for the last two years now. Still, he hadn't found a hobby to replace it.

Just as he was about to keep walking, his foot nudge something small. Looking down, he found it was the office cat. One of the people working here told him her name was Millie, and she tended to follow him around when he ran into her. He crouched to down to give her a scratch behind her ears.

"I'm going to send the file I made up of you soon to a psychiatrist. They'll be able to determine if any medication is needed. I understand if the two of you would like to have a second, or even third opinion on what I've told you, so if that's something you all want to be done, we'll be happy to give you a list of child psychologists nearby."

Like always, Millie followed him back to the seats outside of Dr. Hardy's office. She made herself comfortable over his lap, happily accepting the pets he was giving. At least someone here wasn't asking him a million useless questions.

When his parents finally came out, his mother was the one to give him a look. She always looked worried when they walked out of Dr. Hardy's office, but this was different. He sat Millie aside and followed his parents out the buildings. Passing Dr. Hardy's office, TJ gave him a look that could kill.

ZZ

TJ?"

"Hmm? What is it, Davie?"

While the kids were running around on the playground, TJ was taking a break on a nearby bench, keeping an eye on them.

"I miss my big brother," Davie said. "He's really far away. We rode for a long time to take him to where he is now. I miss him. He's my buddy."

If that wasn't the sweetest thing, TJ didn't know what is.

"Do you think he misses me?" Davie asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure he does," TJ said. "You should ask your mom to call him for you. Maybe you two could talk on the phone once a week."

"That sounds nice. . ."

"It's okay, Davie. Everyone misses their buddy when they go away. But your brother will come back, okay? Besides, you still have your sisters and cousins to play with until then."

"I know. . .but they're both girlies. Me and my brothers were the boys," Davie pouted. "Can you be my buddy?"

"Of course I'll be your buddy."

Davie nodded and leaned against him. Poor little guy. While the others were playing without a care in the world, he was missing his big brother. TJ couldn't exactly relate; he and Becky weren't particularly close, though that unspoken contract of 'if you mess with them I'll fuck you up' between siblings was still there. But he could imagine being four and seeing you big brother go far away for a long time would make a little kid sad.

"Can you play monster with us?" Two of his cousins came over carrying a few of the drawn on boxes they brought to the park.

"How do you play?"

"You gotta chase us around and trap us in the dome and if one of us taps someone you caught they can get out!" One of them said. "Do you want to play?"

"Sure," he said, taking the boxes. "I'll give you a minute to hide, but be ready to run, okay?"

"Okay!"

They ran back to the playground to tell the others.

"Are you gonna play with us, Davie?" He asked. Davie nodded and climbed off the bench. "You might want to go join them, then, so I don't catch you."

Davie nodded again before running onto the playground. Hopefully he'll be able to wear them out so they'll be ready for a nap when they get back home.


	17. Peevish

Today, Home Ec was filled with the class trying out the desserts each of the students made. A few pies here, a plate of cookies there, and cakes. Plenty of cakes. More than enough to go around.

TJ made a batch of cupcakes that were all gone almost as soon as soon as he put the frosting on. He only grabbed a few cookies that were offered to him and waiting for class to be over, doodling something on a spare piece of notebook paper.

And for Mikey to stop staring him down. At least they left him alone over the weekend.

Mikey felt the need to come over with a plate of whatever he made, because why wouldn't he?

"I thought you might want to have a piece," Mikey offered.

It was a simple piece of cake. That was fine enough, but he didn't make a move to take a bite because it was clearly a chocolate cake. A dark chocolate cake.

"Thanks, but no thanks," TJ said. "I can't eat it."

"Why? Is something wrong with it?"

TJ shook his head. "The cake is fine. Everyone looks like they love it. I just can't eat it. Chocolate makes me sick."

"It didn't use to. . ."

"It does now."

". . . . TJ, do you hate us?"

How the conversation went from an offering of cake to his feelings towards the five of them, TJ didn't have a clue. All he could do was give him a confused look.

"Spinelli thinks you hate us, and while I can't blame her for thinking that, I don't think you do," Mikey said. "But you do seem annoyed by us. We're all just worried about you, especially after, you know. Any friend would be, wouldn't they?"

". . .I don't hate you guys, but you're not my friends, either. You all are worrying about nothing; I know what I'm doing," he said. "And I'm not trying to be mean, I really can't eat chocolate unless I want to go to the hospital." He slid the paper plate back to him. "How would you feel if five people were suddenly following you everywhere and asking questions you didn't want to answer? And the answers you do give, they don't want to believe you? Pretty fucking annoyed."

Thank God the bell finally rang.

ZZZ

TJ found that his psychiatrist was a far cry from Dr. Hardy. He still didn't like him, but, he was willing to at least be civil.

"Schizoid Personality Disorder," he read, looking over the considerably thick file Dr. Hardy had amassed about him. "Huh."

"Dr. Hardy said we should consider getting a second opinion," his mother said.

"I'm going to have to recommend that, too. That's a particularly difficult diagnosis to make. A lot of the symptoms can be written off as some who just prefers to be alone, and what teenager isn't like that at least some of the time?" He half joked. "But the other diagnosis, minor depression, that's a little easier to pin down. What do you think, TJ?"

Well.

That was refreshing to hear.

As annoying as Dr. Hardy was, as frustrating as it was that they turn his room upside down to get rid of the razor blades he hid, TJ understood that his parents were only doing what they thought was best for him. Even if that meant talking about his 'situation' in the kitchen when they thought he was asleep. But goddamn, if they would just take a minute to talk _to_ him and not _about_ him. . .!

"I think I'm fine," he said. "My self-esteem is fine. I don't cry out of nowhere. I don't feel worthless. I don't feel hopeless. I only feel frustrated at having to go through all of this when I don't want to. I don't know what schizoid whatever is, though."

For once, it didn't annoy him when the doctor in front of him wrote something down.

"I'm glad you told me this. I know you don't like going through all this, but I'm going to have to send you to another psychologist before I can make a final decision on this," the doctor said.

TJ nodded and leaned back in his seat.

ZZZ

"Okay so I have this cousin, she's rich, and she just told me that I could spend part of winter break in one of her cabins. She only goes there in the summer, anyways. I'm just here to let you know that you're coming."

TJ just wanted to harvest his crops.

His homework was finished and since he wasn't in the mood to get everything out and ready to give himself a few cuts, so wasting a couple of hours mindlessly tending to a virtual farm didn't sound too bad. And it wasn't! He was finally able to afford a cow.

But then Spinelli was in his room. One of his parents must've let her in. She stood in the middle of the room, telling him something about a cabin and winter break?

"No I'm not," He said. He didn't take his eyes off the screen of his DS.

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not."

"What else are you gonna do on winter break? Hole yourself up in your room and cut yourself?" She snapped.

"Probably," he mumbled. He was only half serious about that. His family liked to get together for the holidays and this year it was their turn to have everyone at their house, so he would probably entertaining the kids, and any one of them could barge into his room and see him. "So can you leave now?"

She sat down in his desk chair and crossed her arms.

"That's not going to make me change my mind," said TJ.

"Whatever," she said, slowly spinning in the chair with a kick of her foot. She stopped, facing his desk and looked at what was on it. Nothing special, all things considered. A lamp. a notebook, couple of pencils, a sketchbook-

A sketchbook? That caught her attention. Spinelli hand enough of those to stack them and they're reach her knees. The cover looked new. So she flipped through the first few pages.

A couple drawings of what had to be the animals down at the shelter, mostly guinea pigs and dogs. A few landscapes, a couple of practice sketches of facial features.

"Hey, these are good," she said, turning the page. "Like _really_ good. How long have you been drawing?" He shrugged. "You're great at realism."

"Thanks. Now leave."

"I'm trying be nice here, jackass!" She swiveled the chair to face the bed.

"Then one really easy way to do that is to leave," he said. "I'm tired, Spinelli."

"That's funny, because I'm tired of your bullshit," Spinelli said. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not."

Much to his relief, she finally left.

ZZZ


	18. Alienate

After seeing a number of therapists and getting their opinions, TJ was able to walk away from their office for the last time without any pills being prescribed to him. Which made the whole process seem like a waste, but at least it was done and over with. His parents, though, were still worried, that much was clear.

His therapists all had a few of the same concerns, including his lack of friends. TJ wasn't bothered by it so much; by then his focus was on his upcoming 13th birthday, because his bar mitzpah was going to be the biggest party in his life and he was going to take full advantage of that.

So he killed two birds with one stone by inviting the pale kids. He didn't plan on inviting anyone, his family was big enough to make up the entire party, and by then inviting his old friends was simply out of the question, and honestly stupid. But they insisted he invite _someone_ , and while he didn't hang out with Knarf and his group, their shared interests was enough to have a decent conversation between them.

After that, his parents began to ease up on hovering over him, and things returned to normal.

ZZZ

"If you don't hate us, then what's the goddamn issue?"

So far, none of them had approached him at lunch. That seemed to be their prime, 'stare him down and try to figure him out' time. Not today though. Today, after a single bite of pizza, the others were making themselves comfortable at his table and Spinelli was interrupting his train of thought.

"I'm just trying to eat my lunch," said TJ. "What are you talking about?"

"Mikey said that you said that you don't hate us," said Gus. "But that kinda doesn't make sense because you keep telling us to leave you alone."

"And yet you all keep coming back. It's crazy," he said.

"Teej, we're just trying to help a friend. What would you do if you walked in on one of us going what you were doing?" Vince asked.

"But we're not friends."

"Yes, we are-"

"No. We're not. This is the most we've talked in years."

"Then pretend we are and answer the question!" Spinelli snapped. "What would you do?"

TJ shrugged. What were they trying to get at? "That's different."

"How?"

"Because I know what I'm doing," he said.

". . .Exactly how long have you been doing this?" Mikey asked.

That was definitely a question TJ was surprised they haven't asked him yet. And judging by the looks on the others faces, they were surprised to.

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," he said. "I'm just asking because I think if you're this confident, you must've been doing it for a while. And as a friend. We know you don't think of us as friends, and none of us really know why, but we still think of you as our friend, and friends get worried when they see one of them doing what you were doing. You can least understand that, right?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Can we at least get to know each other again? You're right about us not talking in years," he said. "Maybe we can start talking again? A lot of things can change in a few years."

"No, but that's not going to stop you, is it? It hasn't so far," said TJ. "Do you have anything to say, Gretchen?"

Gretchen, who hadn't spoken up so far in the conversation, was jarred out of her thoughts when being addressed.

"Me?" She asked.

"Yeah. You haven't said anything so far," he said. "You have anything to add?"

"Oh. Well, I was just thinking that getting to know each other again would be a good start," she said. "Even if you don't like us, it's not good for anyone to be lonely."

The bell ringing couldn't come sooner. The more space he could put between them, the better.

ZZZ


	19. Harbinger

ZZZ

"I dunno man, we're not trying to get ambushed again."

"I know, I know. It won't happen again, I've, uh, dealt with them."

TJ paced the floor of his room with his phone to his ear. It's been long enough, he figured, since a certain few people interrupted is month 'get the shit beaten out of him' session. Until now they had been ignoring his phone call and texts until now.

"They aren't going to do that again, I promise. And if they do I'll beat the shit out of them myself."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He just had to make sure they weren't following him, maybe take a different route avoiding passing their houses. "C'mon, I'll even buy you a new pair of brass knuckles

"Alright, fine. When's good for you?"

"Tomorrow or next weekend."

"Tomorrow. We're going somewhere next weekend. Same time as usual?"

"Same time as usual. Thanks."

God, finally. It's been too long since he's gotten beaten within an inch of his life. He feared that they weren't going to do it anymore but money was a big enough motivator for a lot of things. Well, if he was going to come home bruised and bloody, TJ had to make sure he had the stuff to cover it up. He walked to his dresser and looked over at the corner that he kept his usual foundation and concealer. He was running low and had meant to buy more but it slipped his mind when a certain group of five wouldn't leave him alone.

Welp. If he wanted to have some fun he needed to get to the mall.

ZZZ

Alone.

TJ wanted to go to the mall alone but he wasn't that surprised when he bumped into Vince on his way to the bus stop. He was on some sports team or whatever; didn't they practice on the weekends, too? TJ didn't ask him. That would give Vince the false idea that he gave a shit about their lives.

"I'm glad Spinelli doesn't wear makeup. I would have no idea what to buy her, from here," Vince said. He followed TJ as he walked through the displays, occasionally poking around.. They had rearranged the place since he'd last visited. "What are you in here for? Buying something for a girlfriend you haven't told us about?"

TJ shook his head. "It's for me," he said. ". . .Maybe I'll get something for Becky, her birthday is coming up."

"No way. You don't wear makeup."

"I do."

"What for? That's kinda weird, man," said Vince.

"It's good for covering bruises." He stopped when he found his favorite brand. Turned out they had a new foundation. Not that it mattered, he wasn't going to change things up now. Not when this shit was so expensive. . .

"Why do you need to cover up bruises? Are you going to get beat up by that group like the last time?"

"That's the plan," he said. "Is that a problem?"

"Kinda? They beat you up pretty bad, and you weren't even with them for that long," said Vince. "If that's how bad you area a few minutes into it, how bad does it get after the whole thing is over?"

"Real bad. It's great, isn't it?"

". . .No, no it isn't, Teej."

TJ shrugged. "You all aren't going to follow me there, are you? Because it took me forever to get back in contact with those guys again."

Vince was, for a moment, stumped for what to say. None of them wanted to see him how they did that night, blooding, bruising, and barely able to stand. They were supposed to be backing off the whole TJ getting off on hurting himself thing, but shouldn't he say something if he was planning on getting beaten withing an inch of his life?

"Stop looking at me like that," TJ said. "If it keeps you guys from following me, they aren't going to kill me. They can't keep getting my money if I'm dead."

"I guess that's a good point."

Having found everything he came for, TJ lead them to the cashier. The girl behind the counter was trying to strike up a conversation, but it was difficult to do when he only gave her one word answers. Vince wasn't going to add to the attempted conversation; the sooner he got out of here, the better, but that didn't mean he didn't pick up certain things about it.

"You know she was flirting with you, right?" Vince asked once they left the store. "And you just kept brushing her off."

"I was trying to buy something, not get a date," he said. "I barely know her."

"That's the point of dating someone, dude," said Vince.

"I'm not interested."

"But she's hot."

"I swore I told you guys I was asexual already," he mumbled. "I'm not interested, okay?"

"So you don't want to go out with anyone? Not just that girl but anyone at all? I get that you don't want to be friends with us, but don't you ever get tired of being alone?" Vince asked.

". . .Look, I got what I came here for, so I'm going home," he said. "Don't follow me."

While he watched TJ walk away, Vince asked himself if it was something he'd said. By some miracles he was able to have some sort of conversation with the guy before something he said pissed him off. Still, there was a small victory to be had in talking to him for as long as he did.


	20. Debauche

A hard punch to his chest knocked the air out of TJ's lungs and sent him to the gravel covered ground. His ribs creaked and ached with every breath, but he was sure none of them were broken; they would hurt more, and he would barely be able to move.

"You okay?" One of them asked. TJ nodded.

His skull throbbed with the movement. God, he must look like a mess. The rising bruise on his chest from the latest blow was barely scraping the surface. A few of his fingers were grossly bent out of shape and swelling. Blood dripped down his left arm from one of the many cuts sliced into his flesh. He wasn't entirely sure if a few of his teeth weren't loose, after a number of punches to the face.

"I didn't say the safe word, did I?" He asked, slowly climbing back onto his feet. A considerable challenge, considering his knee's were bruised and bleeding under his jeans. Even with that, though, his upper body was taking most of the hits.

"So what next? Your back?" Another one of them asked.

"No, I don't do back injuries," he said. "I like being able to walk. The back of my thighs, that hasn't been touched yet."

One of them gripped the baseball bat that they brought with them and got ready to swing.

ZZZ

867-9954: alias?

: yeah?

867-9954: will you ever tell us who you are?

: no.

: never.

ZZZ

The blood dripping down from the gash on his forehead and over his eyes made it hard to see which one of them had a handful of his hair in their fist and was landing punches at his fast. He lost track of how many hits he took around 7.

When they finally stopped and let go of his hair, TJ let himself fall to the ground. Now a busted lip joined the wounds on his face. While he could stitch it up himself, his parents were going to see it and ask questions and not let him go until he gave them answers.

Or his lip could just be swollen. Nothing an ice pack and some rest couldn't fix.

He wiped the blood from his eyes and felt around his forehead and the edge of his scalp for where the cuts were. Luckily for him, it was on his scalp, out of the sight of prying eyes if he wore a beanie. Okay. Okay.

Good.

Last question, was he bleeding internally?

. . .

. . .

Probably not. Just like he didn't like hits to his back, TJ wasn't fond of too many hits to his gut. The few that hurt his ribs was enough.

"You good, dude?" One of them asked.

"Yeah. . .uh, yeah. I'm, uh, I done, haha," he said. "I'm going home. . ."

"Wait," another said. "Do you want a ride home? Can you even stand?"

". . ah. . .yeah. Yeah, I can stand. . ."

TJ wasn't entirely sure of that statement. Slowly, he managed to get his feet under him again and stand. Though 'standing' would be a generous description. More like 'bent over on shaking legs and struggling to not collapse completely'. The muscles in his legs felt like a rubber band about to snap at the slightest tug.

Nothing he couldn't walk off.

"Nah, I'm good. I can make it home," said TJ.

". . .I really don't think you can. We'll give you a ride home, okay?" One of them said. Between the pain and the bleeding, TJ didn't have much energy left to argue with them.

ZZZ

445-0912: alias, who are you?

: someone who's number was texted on accident, gave advice, and now people ask me to fix their problems

: constantly

445-0912: does that annoy you

: no?

: sometimes

: not enough to tell everyone to fuck off

445-0912: but why do it?

: idk

: I like helping people i guess

ZZZ

They didn't know where he lived, so TJ was able to give them an address blocks away from his and they wouldn't have been able to tell he was lying. With as much agony he was in, TJ wasn't lying about walking it off. He needed to compose himself before he came home, and walking around a bit was always a good way. Especially since his parents home. Seeing their son walk in hunched over was going to raise questions.

Granted he was wearing a hoodie and was using that to hide his face, but he didn't want to give them any reason to get a closer look.

But goddamn. . .

. . .

This, uh, was a lot of blood. . .

His skull felt like a mallet was trying to drive a rusty nail through it. Breathing was hard before, but now he had to stop his already slow paced walking to catch his breath. His vision started to swim as he looked around to orient himself.

Where the hell was he, anyways?

This was Mikey's neighborhood, of all places. In front of his house, even. It's been years since he's been over any of those guys houses willingly, but he still recognized the neighborhoods enough.

Fuck.

Ignoring his broken and sprained fingers, he patted his pockets in search of his phone.

: Are you home

Mikey: TJ?

Mikey: yes im home, why

: come outside

Mikey: why

: just come outside

ZZZ

It was Sunday night, and since school was tomorrow, Mikey wasn't doing much before bed except writing down some notes of a poem he was writing but struggling with. He was ready to call it a night when his phone went off. Expecting it to be another rant from Spinelli, he opened his phone. But much to his surprise, it was from TJ.

He was telling him to come outside. Mikey's window didn't give him a view of the sidewalk, so he had no other choice but to make his way out to the front to see what the problem was. TJ was barely managing to stand on the sidewalk, trembling, looking like he was hit by a truck. Spinelli and Vince had told the rest of them about the night they found him bruised and bloody, but had to imagine that was nothing in comparison to what was in front of him.

"TJ? What happened to you?" Mikey asked, running to him.

"Hey, Mikey," he said in a ragged voice. "Call 911, will ya?"

"O-okay-"

"And don't give me any shit when I get out the hospital, okay?"

"Alright. . ."

And just like that, TJ collapsed, and the only thing keeping him from landing hard on the sidewalk was Mikey catching him.


	21. Rouse

Someone had to be trying to blind him.

The light in his room was never this bright. Opening his eyes as he woke up was out of the question. Instead, TJ opted for keeping his eyes shut.

If he wasn't in his room, then where the hell was he?

. . .

It took a moment for him to remember. He was walking, realized he went a little too far, then Mikey was there. . .he was outside of his house and told him to call 911. He was in the hospital then.

Damn, did he really want to open his eyes then? No doubt his parents were called and probably waiting for him to wake up. But did Mikey tell them anything? How much? And he was going to tell the other about this, even if he didn't tell his parents.

All this because he indulged a little too much. Fuck.

He felt someone run their fingers through his hair. He could feel that a part of his scalp close to his hairline was exposed to the open air. A nurse probably stitched it up. Any other injures, he would have to open his eyes to see.

Welp, it has to happen sooner or later.

ZZZ

"We can leave for the cabin the day after school lets out for winter break, and stay there a week, and come home in time for Christmas," said Spinelli. "So pack for a week. And figure out who you're sharing a room with because if we don't we're going to be fighting over beds."

The day after Mikey found his friend outside his house, bleeding profusely in his arms as he slipped into unconsciousness, Mkey was questioning his choices in this situation. Never one to approach anything with aggression (unless absolutely needed), he want to take the slow and steady route with this, but now, he had to ask himself if, maybe, he was wrong. Sure, Spinelli's method was pushing TJ away but, it maybe he wouldn't have ended up like Mikey saw him last night.

So many maybe's and if's. . .

"You okay, Mikey?" Gus asked. "You've been quiet this whole time."

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm fine, Gus," Mikey said. "Just thinking. . ."

"Speaking of winter break, anyone see TJ? Kinda gotta tell him this since he's coming," Spinelli said, folding her arms. "He's not at his table."

"He wasn't in class earlier. I don't think he came today," said Gretchen.

"He's in the hospital," Mikey said.

"The hospital?"

"What happened?"

"I was about to go to sleep when I got a text from him to come outside, and when i did he was there and looked like he got hit by a truck. He told me to call 911 and then passed out. So I did," he explained. "I think he went back to that group that we found beating him up."

"You know he keeps saying he doesn't to die, but he sure as shit doesn't act like it," Spinelli snapped. "How bad was it Mikey?"

"He was bleeding a lot, and he was barely standing when I got to him," he said. "He told me not to give him any shit about this."

"Of course he would say that," she said. "I just want know what's going on in his head, that's all."

"We all do, Spin," Vince said. He couldn't help but think back to Saturday when TJ told him he was going out to that group again. "So are we going over to his house after school?"

"Damn right."

ZZZ

As soon as he open his eyes, his mother was giving him a hug. A hug that felt like it was crushing his chest and forcing the air out of his lungs. His father had to remind her that she wasn't supposed to be doing that. Once the morphine helped the pain subside, he was able to take in everything his doctor was trying to tell him.

While he was right about his rib not being broken, it was severely bruised. But that was just one on a laundry list of injuries.

"TJ, what on Earth happened?" His mother asked once the doctor left.

Well he couldn't tell her what actually happened. So he did something he was great at. Lie.

He spun a story about going out to get some air and a random gang jumping him for his money. His parents, of course, wanted to go to the police, but he told them that he didn't remember what they looked like. It was night after all. For now, that seemed to get them off his case.

. . .

He really didn't like to make his mother worry, though. Both his parents, as far as they knew, had stopped the whole cutting himself not long after going to therapy. They didn't need to know about this, and he sure as hell didn't need to go back to therapy.

This morphine, though, he could go without it.

The doctor told him to avoid heavy lifting, or any sort of strenuous activity, and to get some rest for the next two or three weeks. Which means two or three weeks out of school. Pretty much until winter break. But he was checked out of the hospital by mid-afternoon with a prescription for some pain meds that he probably wasn't going to take.


	22. Recuperation

Getting upstairs was a struggle with how stiff and uncooperative his legs were being. There was the option of staying on the couch for a while, but that thing needed to be replaced years ago, and like TJ told those guys last night, he didn't want to ruin his back. Instead, with the help of his dad, he made it to his bedroom.

His mother brought him a ice pack and told him to get to sleep right away. The doctor said he had a pretty bad concussion and needed to rest. And of course he would, as soon as he got a better look at himself. He looked in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door to see everything.

They put him in a rib brace, and a black and blue bruise seeped from underneath. Two stitches on his right upper arm, three on his left, and both with bruises ending in the middle of his forearms. The left side of his face was covered in a swollen bruise, from the edge of his ear they stitched up to his broken nose.

The worst of it all, though, was half his fingers being strapped onto splits. He couldn't do anything with two thumbs, one index, one ring, and a pinky finger.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He struggled to get it out with limited use of his hands, but managed. A text from Mikey, of course.

Mikey: Are you okay?

It took forever to reply, and afterwards, he left it on his desk. Those five would be making a stop here later, no doubt.

. . .

He still had a free thumb and index finger on one hand. He could at least pinch some of the bruises for the time being.

Speaking of time, he was time to take a nap. He could feel a headache coming on. Probably that concussion. . .

ZZZ

His parents were happy to see the five of them. In their own words, 'it's been too long since we've seen you kids around here'. They each had something to say about that, all things considered, but they bit their tongues and asked to see TJ. They let them in with a warning that he was asleep the last time they checked on him.

Based on what Mikey said, they were expecting a horror show. That was a pretty accurate description. While TJ was under the covers, just seeing his face gave them enough of an idea what was underneath.

Spinelli raised a fist, but the only reason it didn't land square in his face was Vince grabbing her wrist.

"I dunno why you're stopping me," she mumbled. "He'd probably like it. . ."

To be fair, none of them could say they didn't want to knock some sense into him in the literal sense. Vince might've let her punch him if his nose wasn't broken. And his ear wasn't stitched to his head, Jesus Christ what the fuck.

Instead of that route, Mikey nudged his shoulder. It only took one nudge for TJ to wince in pain and wake up to the sight of them standing in his room.

"Fuck, what? What's going on?" He asked. "Is school out already? I slept longer than I thought. . ."

"So, um, how are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I feel like shit," TJ said. He slowly moved his arms around under the blankets. "Kinda great."

"'Kinda great' he says," Spinelli scoffed.

Rather than having this conversation laying down, TJ moved to sit up, though his ribs and arms made it difficult. The blanket slid down, and with the oversize button up his parent brought him home in still undone, they had a view of the fuller extent of his injuries.

". . Yeah, I'm letting you all handle this because if I do I'm going to punch him into another language," Spinelli said. She turned and left the room, and Vince followed after.

"Can I at least pick the language?" He said under his breath. ". . . .Anyways, thanks, Mikey. For calling 911 last night."

"Oh. Yeah, no problem," said Mikey. "I'm just happy you're okay."

"I'll be okay next year," TJ said. "Quick question, though. Did you tell my parents anything?"

"No, I didn't. I promised I wouldn't last night," he said.

"Alright, good. Good."

"How bad are your injuries?" Gretchen asked. The three of them found a seat, with her at his desk chair and Mikey and Gus on the floor. "Your bruises look severe, and I can see you're wearing a rib brace."

"I won't be going to school until after winter break, that's how bad," he said, plainly.

"Do you want us to bring your homework?" Gus asked. TJ would've shrugged if he had the energy.

"If you want. But it's not like I'll be able to do much of it." He held up his hands. "I'm out of commission, until after winter break, probably."

"Speaking of winter break, since Spinelli's not here to say it, we're supposed to pack for a week when we go to her cousin's cabin."

"She still thinks I'm going, that's funny. I'm not," he said. "And now I have a medical reason not to."

"Why the fuck are you so against us helping you?" The four of them turned to the door, where Spinelli returned, with Vince right behind. "How do you expect us to react when we see you like this? I really, really want to know, TJ."

"I didn't ask you for help," he snapped. "I never asked you for help!"

"You asked me," Mikey said. "You asked me last night."

". . .Yeah. I asked Mikey," said TJ. "I asked him because that's when I needed it. I know my limits-"

"Did you know them last night when he found you outside his house looking like you've been dragged to hell and back?!"

"What do you want me to say, Spinelli? That I fucked up? Fine, I fucked up and went way past my boundaries last night. Are you happy, now?" Easily loosing his breath, TJ wrapped his arms around his abdomen as taking a breath became uncomfortably painful. "I'm alive aren't I? I didn't _die."_

"TJ, can you at least listen to what I have to say?" Mikey spoke up. "You scared me last night. You were already bleeding a lot when I came up to you, but when you passed out, I couldn't wake you up again. And part of your face was turning blue. Now I know that was because it was of the bruising, but then, I thought it was because you weren't breathing. And maybe you were dying. I know you've told us multiple times that you're in control of this, but can you understand that it didn't look like it to me last night?"

. . .

They were looking at him, waiting for an answer. TJ looked down at his splinted fingers, unwilling to look at any of them. All this going back and forth, he was started to feel the beginnings of a headache because of it.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I made you worry, Mikey," he said. "It wasn't supposed to get that bad, and it never did before. I just overindulged this one time. Okay?"

"Okay."

" _Okay_?! Mikey-"

"Spinelli, please," Mikey sighed. "Right now, yelling isn't going to do anybody any good."

"Fine. Whatever," she huffed. "This isn't over."

"I didn't think that for a second," TJ said, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna have to ask you guys to leave. I have a concussion and a headache and I really should be getting back to sleep."

After that conversation, they all needed some time to think. They left his room, and TJ finally got some peace and quiet. He was still too tired to mess around with his bruises, but later. there was always later.


	23. Convalescence

These splits were metal, with a blue foam-like cushion lining the inside. He's seen plastic ones, but these were perfect. They cooled after being exposed to the air, and touching his bruises with it felt like pins being hammered into his flesh, all the way down to his muscles. They twitched, causing the pain to last and spread like an icy burn.

So very, very nicely.

He pinched and twisted his skin, pulling, counting to ten with each go. There was already the aches with every breath he took, but the throbbing sensations running deep through whichever arm he picked for the night was the perfect cherry on top. These bruises were definitely going to last a lot longer because of it.

That was good. Great.

What wasn't great was that he felt like absolute filth. Masochism or not, TJ didn't want to risk slipping in the shower when he could barely stand up straight, so until the muscles in his thighs heal, he was stuck with washing out of a sink, and that fucking sucked. Goddamn he just wanted to exfoliate and soak.

But that was price to pay for all the bruises, he supposed.

ZZZ

TJ didn't think for a moment that they wouldn't be visiting him everyday. Their excuse was simple, but smart, in a way. Someone had to drop off his homework, whether or not he was able to do any of it was irrelevant.

He had to give them credit, though. They kept coming over despite his coldness towards them.

"You can take your notebook back."

TJ looked up from his phone. Spinelli was the one dropping his homework off today, apparently. And his notebook from last year, he forgot about that.

"Your history teacher gave your class some huge essay to do," she said. "People who take AP classes are either bored or crazy. That's probably why you took it."

"Uh-huh."

Instead of leaving like she did last time, she sat in his desk chair, slowly spinning with the occasional kick. TJ wasn't sure if she was staying to annoy him or not, but as long as she wasn't yelling at him, then what the fuck ever. His throat was kinda sore today, anyway.

He had plenty of texts of people asking for help to catch up to.

ZZ

Spinelli knew that her temperament was not her greatest feature. Granted, it was useful for getting people to stop fucking around with her and her friends but when it came to shit that got emotions stirring, it only made things worse.

Mikey wanted them to take the slow and steady route, and of course he would, he was better at the whole connecting emotionally junk. But how did they expect her to act when she saw how badly TJ was injured?

She wanted to knock some sense into him, because be was being so goddamn stupid! How did the rest of them not want to scream at him? It probably wouldnt have done much; as much as TJ kept saying they weren't his friends, he at least used to be, and was probably still used to her temper. It didn't even phase him.

. . .

"How did you get into this stuff, anyways?" She asked. She kicked the floor again to keep the chair spinning. He stopped texting (who the fuck could he be texting, anyways?) and looked at her.

"Why?"

"I can't ask a question?"

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I have to answer."

That was another thing. He could be as stubborn as she could be loud. Maybe even more so. Whatever. She stopped the chair facing his desk. Since the conversation was going to be one sided, she didn't feel like trying again. Not right now. Instead she turned her attention to the sketchbook on his desk. The homework was piling up, but that was on the side, clearly not something he was focusing on.

Last time she flipped through it, he didn't move to stop her, and it's not like he's able to move fast enough to stop her now.

Spinelli took her time looking through what he drew. Like she said before, he was great at drawing realistically, and there were a lot of drawing of animals that she could only guess were ones at the shelter. A few anatomy sketches, some perspective work, and the occasional attempt at a cartoony style, but those were few and far between. None of them knew he could draw like this, but they didn't know a lot of things about him, apparently.

"Gretchen is dropping your homework over tomorrow," she said, standing up. "Maybe you'll have a conversation with her, you sure as shit don't want to talk to me."

"Okay, thanks."

She rolled her eyes and left.


	24. Sojourn

With half of his fingers out of his split, TJ had enough freedom in his hands to hold a pencil and put a dent in his homework after a few weeks. While he sat at his desk, he could hear the commotion downstairs of family members coming over. Mostly aunts. He was still barred from heavy lifting and reaching, so they came over to help with holiday decorations while he had an excuse to not do it. One of his aunts even brought his cookies, and he quickly devoured them.

But he really did have to start working on his homework. It was piling up and he would rather not have to rush to get it done later. Halfway through one of his math assignments, he heard footsteps climbing the stairs. TJ assumed it was the few of his little cousins coming in from playing in the snow. He braced for them earlier and locked his desk drawer with his pocketknives and switchblades, as well as the first aid kit under his bed to keep them from finding it.

But it wasn't his cousins. It was _them._

"Hey, where's you stuff, we've gotta get going," Spinelli asked as the five of them came into his room.

TJ let out a sigh of frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not going," he said. "Get out."

"You've been stuck in your room for the last couple weeks. Don't you want to get some fresh air?" Gus asked.

TJ wouldn't call being trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with five people who he didn't like 'getting fresh air'. That sounded like stress he didn't need, especially now. His bruises were starting to heal, though even with how he pinched and poked around with them, he was surprised it was taking so long. His ribs, TJ had to take pain meds at night if he wanted to get any sleep.

To be honest, he was surprised none of them talked to his parents. He knew both of them were concerned about his lack of friends, so they would probably be all for him going off to spend time with them and more or less force him to do it. But TJ wasn't going to question it.

"I'll open a window," he said.

"Open a window at the cabin, smartass," Spinelli said. "C'mon, pack your shit."

"I won't be able to do anything even if I did go," TJ argued.

"That's fine, we just want to relax and spend time together," said Mikey. TJ leaned back in his chair, since slouching wasn't comfortable with his rib brace, and folded his arms. Clearly, he still wasn't budging. "It would be a nice way to make up for me thinking you were dying."

If that was the case, then he should've left him to die, TJ thought. Being stuck with them for a week, without a car of his own so he could leave whenever? Not his idea of relaxing. Mikey, at least, was kind of right. he could admit that much. But he wasn't close enough to feel like he 'owed' any of them anything for any reason.

"Why would I say yes? You all are just to trying to get me there just to ask questions," he said, picking his pencil up again. "Why would I put myself somewhere to be interrogated for a week?"

"We promise we won't do that, right guys?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Spinelli scoffed.

"See? It's just the six of us taking a break from school in a cabin. That's it," said Mikey. "Will you come?"

. . .

". . .Fine," TJ threw his pencil down and closed his textbook. "Fine! You have to carry my bag, though. I'm not supposed to do heavy lifting."

TJ grabbed a duffel bag from his closet, dropped it on his bed, and started stuffing it full of clothes. Mostly items that were easy to get in and out of without too much stretching.

"What's so great about this cabin, anyways?" He said, grabbing his chargers. "What's there that you can't do here?"

"It has a jacuzzi, a entertainment room, a library, an observatory, a full gym, and it's all next to a lake," Spinelli said. "You can find something to do."

The only thing on that list that mildly caught his interest was the observatory, but even then, TJ wasn't any more excited to go. Already in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, he opted for an oversized sweater on top of it and an old pair of shoes. He grabbed two bottles of medication from his dresser, tossing one into the bag and keeping the other in his pocket.

"Uh-huh."

He opted for taking the homework of two of his classes. He unlocked his desk drawer and picked out a switchblade he hadn't used yet.

". . .You're bringing a knife with you?" Gus asked.

"Is that a problem? I've gotta have something to get me through this."

After stuffing a few more things in his bag, he zipped it shut and grabbed his jacket. Mikey volunteered to carry his bag downstairs. Before leaving, TJ told his parents about the whole thing, hoping that, in some very small chance, they would be uncomfortable with him going anywhere with his injuries. But of course, he couldn't have that.

"I think that's a great idea," his mother said. "You've been cooped up in your room for too long, and it's nice to see you spending time with your friends again!" Her smiling when she said that made TJ bite his tongue and not tell her that they weren't his friends.

The six of them piled into two cars: Gretchen, Spinelli, and Vince in Gretchen's pickup, and Gus, Mikey, and TJ in Gus's run down car. They said it was going to be a long ride, and, not in the mood to talk, TJ put on his headphone and opted to listen to music and sleep the entire way there.


	25. Entrant

Gus was aware that throughout this whole thing, he had stayed quieter than the others. At first it was just the whole, being nauseous around blood, but now, the nervous part of his personality was starting to rear it's ugly head.

Right now, he was the one driving, following Gretchen's car, and really wanted to focus on the road. TJ sat in the back, and already fell asleep, while Mikey, sitting in the passenger seat, was still wide awake.

It wasn't like he didn't want to talk to TJ, it was just he didn't know exactly what to say to him. How was he supposed to start a conversation with someone who wasn't interested in talking? He had a feeling that the most he would get out of TJ is short, one or two word answers.

Could he be blamed, though? When they were younger, he kinda looked up to him, so seeing TJ, all bloody with needles in his neck was a shock, to say the very least. There was no way that was safe. How did he even think of doing that? Or any of this? Gus had so many questions.

ZZZ

By the time they were pulling up, TJ had woken up and it was already night. As much as he didn't want to come, he admitted to himself that the cabin was indeed big. Now all he hoped for was that they each got their own rooms. A large two story cabin with a wrap around porch, and right on a lake. Maybe it was big enough for him to get lost in and he could limit how much time he spent with them. And get a few cuts in. With how much attention his parents have been giving him this last few weeks, he wasn't able to do it.

The others were talking about how big it was and picking out rooms as they went inside. With Mikey carrying his bag, TJ took his time, trailing behind. Being in the car for hours didn't do his ribs any favors, but it wasn't something a few stretches couldn't take care of.

He followed them inside. The five of them were looking around, with their bags piled up just outside the living room. TJ opted for the kitchen, where none of them were. TJ sighed. He really was here for a week, huh? He needed to save up for a car or something.

TJ sat in one of the counter stools and pulled out his phone. He's been getting messages from people asking if he wanted to spend part of winter break with them. Of course he had to say no because they couldn't find out who he was.

As he took off his coat, TJ heard one of them calling him from upstairs.

ZZZ

Spinelli and Vince we're sharing a room. the largest one with a queen bed, because of course. Gretchen found her own room, so did Mikey, which left the only extra bed for him in a room with Gus.

So far, out of all of the, Gus had approached him the least, and TJ hadn't given him much thought. As he wasn't going to bother and insert himself into his life, then TJ wasn't going to question it.

The most he got out of their brief interactions was that Gus was actually taller than him, which left him as the shortest out of all of them. Which was a hit to his self-esteem, but whatever.

"Hey, Teej. I guess we're roommates for the week," Gus said.

TJ nodded, and opted for sitting on the other bed. The room was spacious, giving them plenty of room between their beds, but at the moment, TJ didn't care about looking around. An ache settled on and around his ribs since he started climbing the stairs. Instead of subsiding, it was gradually getting worse. The only thing keeping him calm was that this wasn't the first time it happened. He focused on taking deep breaths and trying to get to his brace.

". . .Is something wrong?" Gus asked, noticing his strained breathing.

"My ribs," he breathed. He struggled to pull his sweater off and quickly changed to reaching under his tops. "I need my medication."

"Is it in your bag?"

"My jacket. . ." He fumbled with the strap to his brace. "It's in the pocket."

Gus nodded and ran downstairs to get it. When he ripped the brace off, TJ felt his ribs creek from the sudden release, but it was easier to breathe without it on. He tossed it on them bed, placed his hands on his sides and slowly leaned to the left, his ribs creaking with every inch of movement. Then to the right, then forward and back.

"I'm back, I got your medicine, and your bag, too," Gus said. He dropped the bag at the end of the bed and handed TJ the bottle, who immediately twisted off the top and took a couple pills dry.

"Thanks."

"Y-yeah, no problem," he said. "Would bath help? My dad has back problems but he says that soaking in a hot bath helps."

"I wouldn't be able to climb out of the tub."

"No, one of the bathrooms has one of those tubs you sit in," said Gus. "You know, one of those tall ones? C'mon, I'll show you."

ZZZ

It was beautiful. A large, walk-in tub that he could just walk in, sit down, and soak. Sure the bathroom was pristine and had a window to the lake, but fuck that, TJ walked into that tub like his life depended on it. He grabbed one of the bath bombs in a basket nearby to add to it. This one smelled like lavender.

He ran his fingers through his hair to wet it. His stretches were removed a few days ago, and he could properly wash his hair, something long overdue. The hot water made it easier to lift his arms to do so as his muscles relaxed and he just melted.

"I have a question," Gus said when he returned with his bag. He knew Mikey said they weren't going to ask questions, but he had a lot to ask out of genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, what?" TJ asked, working a shampoo he found on a nearby shelf into his hair.

"You said you're a masochist, that you like pain right?" He asked. TJ nodded. "So if you like pain, then why is it so bad that your ribs hurt? Wouldn't you like that?"

"It's different." TJ paused to dip his head underwater to rinse his hair. "I'm tired right now, I'm not in the mood for it. And I can't sleep if it hurts that much."

"Oh. . .that makes sense, I guess," said Gus. The two of them heard the others calling for them downstairs. "I'll, uh, go tell them you're busy."

TJ watched him leave with half lidded eyes. This water was nice, and if he wouldn't drown, he'd love to fall asleep in it. It was nice being able to move his arms again. He grabbed a bottle of deep conditioner and generously put it in his hair. He ran his fingers over a panel of buttons on the edge of the tub. He pressed one, and bubbles came, giving him a very light massage.

Oh, yeah, he was going to spend the whole week here.

What kind of soaps did they have here. . .?

ZZZ


	26. Commonality

It was hard for him to stay asleep in a new place. Especially somewhere that he didn't really want to be.

3 am, TJ was walking around the cabin while the others slept away. Probably the best time for him, anyways, he wouldn't run into any of them.

Sure everything was nice, but so far the only thing he liked was that walk in tub. Whoever Spinelli's cousin was, they sure as fuck loved bath and body works. . .

He turned around the corner. Maybe he should go back to bed, it was nice and warm under the blankets. He carried his sketchbook with him, just in case he couldn't fall asleep again and needed something to do.

Turning the corner, TJ spotted the sun room. Despite the large windows, it was just as warm as the other rooms. He turned on a lamp and settled onto a couch. The others might be asleep, but he still felt like he needed space from them. He opened his sketchbook and started lazily drawing nothing in particular until he could fall asleep again.

ZZZ

Gretchen was an early riser. Always had been, and most likely always will be, and she was thankful for that; it meant she had more time to get work done. But it was difficult to sleep in once she did wake up at her usual 6 am sharp, even on days where she wanted to relax.

The sun hasn't risen when she found herself laying awake in bed first thing in the morning. Judging by how quiet it was, she was probably the only one up. Rather than wait, she climbed out of bed and left her room. She wanted to get a better look at that observatory.

Of course she came here to primarily spend time with her friends, but that observatory was _nice_ , and she was going to get some stargazing done while she was here. Still a bit unfamiliar with the cabin's layout, she tried to remember the path up to the observatory. The normal staircase didn't lead to it; it had it's own.

Downstairs, left to the staircase, down the hall past one of the bathrooms, past the library (she had to see what books where in there, too, this was going to be a fun vacation for her), past the sun room where TJ was-

Gretchen stopped.

So she wasn't the only one awake. . .

Stepping inside, she called his name only to get no response. Moving closer she saw that he was asleep, with a sketchbook laying on the coffee table in front of the couch. Spinelli had mentioned that she'd seen his drawings and had been rather impressed, which meant a lot, considering her own talent.

Rather than waking him, she continued to retrace her steps to the observatory. Gretchen wondered, was he still into astronomy like he was in elementary school? The two of them didn't have as much in common as some of the others, but the love of all things space was something they shared. Was that still there? For a moment she considered turning back and asking him to join her, but opted against it.

ZZ

TJ's Bar Mitzvah was space themed, because _duh._ What else would it be?

He loved space, enough to read a book without pictures to learn more about it. Tables decorated with each planet in mind, a chocolate cake with galaxy colored frosting, decorations that glowed under the UV light, and the telescopes! His parents actually got a few telescopes to place outside so everyone could do some stargazing.

He pointed out the constellations, having memorized a large number of them. Though he was eager to share what he knew, this cousins and others quickly lost interest and went back inside, but that was okay. He was used to that. He knew it was hard to get him to stop talking when it was about something space related.

It would've been nice to share it with someone, though.

ZZ


End file.
